


Love, Lust, Faith and Dreams

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but not exactly), Alpha Dean, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Bottom Castiel, Businessman Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Escort Dean, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Kidnapping, Knotting, Lies, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Castiel, Omega Kevin, POV Multiple, Past Drug Use, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 76,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Sacre is the sole owner of the multibillion dollar corporation that his father built from the ground up. By all rights, this should be the most glorious time of his life. But he is also an unmated omega on the verge of turning thirty, and as decreed by an antiquated inheritance law, Castiel will have turn over all assets to the eldest alpha in his family, unless he finds himself a mate. Unwilling to mate for convenience, Castiel resigns himself to his fate, trusting that his alpha half-brothers will not leave him destitute.</p><p>Dean Winchester is two years in to what has arguably been the shittiest part of his life. It has fallen to him to pay off a shitload of debt leftover from his estranged brother’s not-so-legal former lifestyle, and to foot the bill for said brother’s stay at a rehab facility. To that end, Dean is working as a high-end escort—it pays well because alphas are apparently in high demand, but god, does he hate it. Naturally, when he’s offered a chance to clear his debts and leave this life behind, he seizes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> View the fantastic artwork by Nonexistenz [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2572862)! She was an absolute pleasure to talk to, and I feel very lucky to have been paired up with her.
> 
> Special thanks to [Lemon](http://lemonrow.tumblr.com/) for being so patient with me in betaing this :) And I pitched this idea to [Cami](http://garrisonbabe.tumblr.com/) initially and [Bananna](http://everknowing.tumblr.com/) later on, so here's a shoutout to them for putting up with my rambly initial thoughts regarding this project.
> 
> And now, some info about the work itself: this fic is based on the latest album by 30 Seconds to Mars, from which the fic gets its name. (Listen on youtube: [full album](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifxpuNewOeM); [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ8uspgf7vs&list=PLlDeOaCwyCKE-2kqJdrkPtencX0XfRYSV)) Each of the chapters is named after the corresponding song on the album, and the idea was to structure the fic so that its events would (loosely) parallel the songs on the album. I'm sure it doesn't match up perfectly, but hey, I tried.
> 
> Disclaimer: While the Sam/Kevin subplot features more prominently than my usual side pairings, there is no explicit content for them.

_Are you lost? Can't find yourself?_

_You're north of Heaven, maybe somewhere west of Hell._

* * *

Castiel closes his eyes, rubs his temples, and curses his brother’s existence. He’s sitting in his office, attempting to work, and all Balthazar wants to do is talk about Castiel’s inheritance. Castiel is very much aware of the fact that he is an omega, that he is approaching the age of thirty, and that the will placing all company assets under his name will be considered null and void if he does not find himself an alpha by the time his birthday rolls around.

It’s not that he doesn’t _care_. It’s just that he doesn’t care _enough_.

Of course, Castiel would _like_ to keep his position as owner of the Sacre Corporation, but he isn’t about to mate the first alpha that catches his eye just to keep his inheritance. Besides, it won’t be the end of the world to him if he has to step down and let one of his half-brothers take over.

Though, from the way he’s still going on about it, it may very well be the end of the world for Balthazar.

“Oh, fuck off,” Castiel finally says, cutting his brother off mid-tirade.

“Pardon?” Balthazar says, because Castiel usually just lets him go on and on without interruptions.

“I said, _fuck off_ ,” Castiel repeats. “I understand the reason why you want me to find a mate, and I appreciate your willingness to set me up on dates, but I simply will not mate for the sake of money.”

“It’s not just about the money,” Balthazar protests. “This is everything that Father ever worked for, and he passed it on to _you_ for a reason. If you don’t keep this position—if you let Michael or Lucifer take ownership of this company—you’ll have given up on him.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel says firmly. “He knew the law. If he truly wanted me to keep this position, he would have found some way to work that into his will.”

“ _Or_ he wrongly assumed that you would choose the logical route and find a mate,” Balthazar says. “What kind of an omega are you, anyway, hmm? Almost thirty, still unmated, and unwilling to even do a _thing_ to change that—”

“I believe I told you to fuck off,” Castiel says, picking up his desk phone.

“What, are you going to _call security_ on me?” Balthazar says, incredulous.

“No. I’m calling Alfie because while you may have forgotten where we are, I’m still trying to run a business, here—several, actually,” Castiel responds as he punches in Alfie’s extension—he should be in the building at this time of day.

Balthazar huffs and folds his arms across his chest, and Castiel considers punishing him with a more taxing job. Then again, Balthazar practically runs Gabriel’s oil company already, so there isn’t much more Castiel can pile on him. Michael and Lucifer are both in complete control over their respective branches of the corporation and have made it clear they want it to stay that way, so there’s no use trying to insert his annoying brother there, either.

Perhaps Naomi’s position. As Chief Information Officer for both the hotel chain and the oil company, she’s got quite a lot on her plate. But Balthazar could never be as good at her job as she is.

Well. _No one_ could be as good at Naomi’s job as she is.

“Cas?” Alfie says when he picks up.

“Hello, Alfie,” Castiel says. “I’m looking at a couple copies of invoices from the Pharm, and there are some items that I don’t remember ever approving.”

“Oh. That’s… strange.”

“Yes. I’d like you to make a trip to the Pharm and check their internal records.”

“Should I call Lucifer ahead of time?”

Castiel considers it. “No,” he decides. “You don’t even have to let him know when you get there. Just… take a look inside the warehouses, and then check the paperwork. I’ll fax one of these invoices to you, and I want you to figure out what the circled item numbers are.”

“All right, I’m on it,” Alfie says.

“Thanks.” When Castiel puts the phone back down on the receiver, he is disappointed to see that Balthazar is still standing in front of his desk, looking at him expectantly.

“You shouldn’t bother worrying about all this, you know,” he says.

“What do you mean by that?” Castiel asks tiredly, picking up the invoices and shuffling through them to find the one with the most questionable items.

“All the stuff with the company,” Balthazar clarifies. “You’re going to fucking lose it all anyway, so why do you even care?”

Castiel looks at his brother sharply. “ _That_ kind of thinking would be giving up on our father’s work,” he says sternly. “Now, get out of my office. I mean it.”

**LOVE**

“We need to talk about what happened,” Kevin says calmly.

His patient is sitting several yards away, a nice and safe distance, in a chaise longue that’s facing away from Kevin, comfortable enough that Kevin has used it once or twice himself, between sessions.

“We’re not being recorded,” Kevin reminds his patient. “I won’t even take notes, if you’d prefer it that way. Just say the word.”

“I’m not going to talk about it. Not now, not ever. Why can’t you just accept that?”

Because it matters—because _he_ matters. Because he’s hurting. Because of the pain in his voice whenever he says things like this. Because he’s clearly still blaming himself for his addiction and for the position he put his brother in. Because Kevin won’t be able to help him heal until he knows what exactly is causing him to feel so guilty.

But Kevin can’t say any of this, not without getting himself closed out again—it’s already been almost two years, and Kevin’s tried all of these reasons and more, to no avail.

“I won’t give up on you,” Kevin says quietly. Because he knows how beautiful that face looks when it’s smiling, and he wants to see it again. Of course, this is even worse than any of the other reasons. It’s unprofessional, and Kevin is going to take it with him to the grave, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

The room remains silent, and Kevin senses that the conversation, short as it was, is over. So he gets to his feet, smoothing down his white coat before starting toward the door.

“Thank you,” his patient says, and Kevin stops as he passes by the chair.

Looking down into sad, hazel eyes, Kevin says, “No, Sam. Thank _you_.”

Sam looks mildly surprised by the response, and Kevin just smiles, reaching out to pat his shoulder before leaving the room. Tomorrow they’ll talk about something else, something easy. Kevin had thought that Sam might be ready to share more about his past today, but clearly, he was wrong.

It’s all right. They still have some time left.

**LOVE**

Dean waits impatiently outside Crowley’s office, watching as his secretary fields calls from all sorts of businesses—he’s never actually figured out just how many companies Crowley owns, and he isn’t sure he actually _wants_ to know.

Crowley has always been hard to pin down. Hell, Dean’s known the guy for almost two years, and he _still_ doesn’t know whether he’s alpha, beta, or omega. It’s simply impossible to tell, by scent or by behavior. Not that Dean really cares, though—his job doesn’t require him to come into the office, which is great because it means he doesn’t have to interact with Crowley on a regular basis.

It _does_ call into question why Dean’s waiting out here now, though. He can’t remember the last time Crowley asked him to come in. His regular clients know to contact him directly, and while Crowley does handle new clients, he always checks Dean’s availability via text.

Honestly, Dean can’t think of any other reason for his presence here right now, other than the possibility that Crowley wants to fire him. It’s kind of a ridiculous thought, though, because Dean knows for a fact that he brings in a hell of a lot of money. He’s got a photographic memory, which makes him kind of their go-to guy when it comes to any sort of highly intellectual clientele because he can show up at some fancy benefit and fit right in as long as he’s been given enough material to prep with ahead of time.

Bela potentially brings in just as much, purely because female alphas are _extremely_ rare in this business, but Dean doubts that Benny, Victor, or Gordon, the other alphas here, are as—for lack of a better word—valuable to Crowley as he is.

Then the door opens, and Benny steps out. He looks just as startled to see Dean as Dean is to see him.

“What’s going on?” Dean asks.

Benny just shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll catch up with you later—I’ve gotta be downtown in twenty minutes to meet a client.”

“Good luck,” Dean says, getting to his feet as his friend passes.

“Mr. Crowley will see you now,” the secretary says with a small smile.

“Thanks, uh, Cecily,” Dean says, double-checking her nameplate to make sure he’s gotten her name right. She smiles again and gestures toward the door to Crowley’s office, so he makes his way over.

“Dean,” Crowley says from behind his desk. “Please, close the door and have a seat.”

“What’s this about?” Dean asks warily, shutting the door and stepping farther into the office.

Crowley waits until Dean has actually taken a seat in the armchair across from his desk before speaking up. “Well, it’s about a new client. Do you have time tonight?”

Dean frowns. “Crowley, why am I here?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute, Dean. Now, answer the question.”

“No. I’ve got a date,” Dean says.

“Who is it with, and what time?”

“Tara Benchley, at six o’clock.”

“Mm,” Crowley says. “Well, unfortunately, you are no longer free to meet with her tonight. Our deepest apologies, but she’ll have to make do with one of our other amiable alphas.”

“Quit being so goddamn cryptic and just tell me what’s going on already,” Dean snaps.

“You have an interview,” Crowley says.

“An interview,” Dean echoes when Crowley says nothing more. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What does it _sound_ like it means? It means I’ve been made a _very_ attractive offer, but the client would like an interview before hiring one of you,” Crowley says. “I’ve already made up my mind which one of you would be ideal for the job, and you can relax, because it’s not you.”

Frowning, Dean says, “Okay… so why did you call me in here?”

“Well, the client believes that he’ll be able to choose the escort he’ll be hiring, so I just need to make sure that he won’t be too impressed by you,” Crowley responds.

“Okay, bomb the interview. Got it. You could’ve just sent a text, you know.”

“I wanted to make it very clear what I wanted,” Crowley says. “Now, just a little bit about your client. He is searching for someone to service his little sister, possibly coaching her through her first time—”

“That’s… weird,” Dean interjects. Shaking his head, he says, “Look, if I’m not taking the job, I don’t exactly need to know this, do I? And hey, here’s a better idea: how about, I go on my date as planned and just skip out of the interview entirely, instead of wasting my night?”

“That is simply not an option,” Crowley says. “My client wanted to meet my best, so he is going to meet my best.” After an awkward pause, Crowley says, “You should feel flattered, at this point.”

“Yeah, not so much,” Dean says. “Are we done here?”

“Yes, we’re done,” Crowley says.

“Great. See you later.”

As Dean gets out of the chair and starts toward the door, Crowley remarks lightly, “Ah, Dean, I do love our little chats. Come again soon.”

Dean manages to get the door closed just as Crowley finishes speaking, and he spares a moment to smile at Cecily before heading for the elevator, because he is so ready to be out of this goddamn building. He’s been doing his job for two freaking years, and he knows what he’s doing. Hell, he’s flunked interviews before. It’s not anything _difficult_ , so Dean really doesn’t get the point of calling him in like this.

He wonders if Benny got the same talking-to. Or maybe Crowley wants Benny to be chosen tonight.

Either way, Dean doesn’t have to work tonight, which means his whole afternoon has just been freed up, too. It’s about time he went and visited Sam…

**LOVE**

Sam never put much stock into the idea of working outdoors, of getting in touch with nature, as a form of therapy. He’d scoffed when Kevin first suggested it, but it really helps when he needs to occupy himself, to takes his mind off—well, off everything.

And shit, he needs to stop thinking of Kevin as Kevin. He’s Dr. Tran to Sam, and he’s gonna fucking well _stay_ Dr. Fucking Tran.

Sam has seen another psychologist here at the clinic, and he’s never actually talked to the guy, but at least that guy’s a beta, neutral ground. Kevin— _Dr. Tran_ —is a goddamn genius of an omega who’s only twenty-three years old, naïve and innocent and way younger than should be freakin _allowed_ , to be treating psychotic freaks like Sam.

He lifts the garden hoe and swings it down again, breaking the earth. It’s late autumn, and Sam’s thinking about adding some roses to this part of the garden. He’s definitely _not_ doing it in the hopes of distracting himself because a certain sweet omega smells like roses.

“Sam.”

Sam starts at the voice and half-turns, looking behind him. Dean’s standing there, a rueful smile on his face, and Sam takes a few steps toward him, bringing the hoe with him and shoving it down onto the ground, leaning on the handle.

“Hard at work, I see,” Dean comments.

“Yeah. Helps me think,” Sam replies. After a pause, he says, “I’d go over and hug you, but I’m kinda sweaty and dirty, and you probably—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I gotcha,” Dean responds.

Sam had assumed that Dean would have to work tonight, but he’s not in a suit and tie or anything, and normally his nighttime jobs are fancy, black tie required. So maybe he’s wrong, and Dean’s not working, tonight. But it’s a Tuesday night—there’s no reason why Dean wouldn’t be—

“How’ve you been?” Dean asks, cutting off Sam’s thoughts.

“Fine. Yeah, I’ve been fine,” Sam answers. “No uh, no debilitating cravings to speak of, and the sessions with K—with Dr. Tran are going fine.”

“Dude, two years and you two still aren’t on a first name basis?” Dean says, brows raised. “Even I call the kid Kevin, Sam.”

“He’s a doctor, Dean, not a kid,” Sam hedges.

“No, he’s a doctor _and_ a kid,” Dean responds, grinning.

There’s a brief silence because Sam doesn’t want to talk about Kevin, but he doesn’t know what else he and Dean _can_ talk about, and then he says, “So uh, have you seen Dad at all, lately?”

Dean sighs heavily. “No, I haven’t, and I’m not going to.”

“You really should see him,” Sam says quietly. “Because I _can’t_.”

But of course, this was the wrong thing to bring up—there’s never a good time to talk about Dad. Dean clenches his jaw and turns to the side, looking out over the rest of the garden. “Sam, I’m not going, and you can’t force me to,” he finally says.

“Yeah, got it. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says, shaking his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, and then he says, “Glad you’re doing okay. I’ll be back around to see you again, soon.”

“Okay. Bye, Dean,” Sam says.

He watches as his brother walks back toward the facility in the distance, something sour rising up in his chest. This family is so fucked up that there’s almost no way to recover, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

So he does the only thing he _can_ do: he turns back to the freshly turned earth and gets to work.

**LOVE**

The address that Crowley texts him for the interview is the room number on the top floor of a _really_ classy hotel that Dean has been to quite a few times in the two years that he’s worked as an escort. It’s known for excellent room service and has more than one ballroom available to rent for dances, charity events, banquets, that sort of thing.

Dean’s never cared to find out anything about the illustrious Sacre family, but he’s heard things. They’re a huge family, but few of them are widely known—Michael and the late Charles are the only ones Dean can name. He certainly hasn’t ever heard of a _Balthazar_ Sacre, but he’s apparently about to meet him.

Dean steps out of the elevator and straightens his tie—just because he’s going to bomb this interview doesn’t mean he can’t look nice doing it. Then he goes down the hall, following the numbers until he reaches the correct room. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door and waits for it to open.

A blond man answers the door with a small, polite smile and sticks out his hand. “Mr. Winchester, I presume,” he says.

“Yes,” Dean answers, shaking the man’s hand. “And you must be Mr. Sacre.”

“I am indeed. Please, come in,” he says, stepping back.

Dean enters the room at a measured pace, not too fast but not too slow, and sees two armchairs placed not completely facing each other, but more at a 135 degree angle, and he hesitates a moment before taking the chair farther from the door, noting that the one closer to the door has a small clipboard on the armrest.

Mr. Sacre pauses by the vacant chair and asks, “Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Winchester?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then let’s begin,” he says, sitting down and picking up the clipboard. “I trust Mr. Crowley has already provided you with the details.”

“I know enough,” Dean says, and it isn’t even a lie—he knows enough to fail the interview.

“Good,” Mr. Sacre says. “Well, despite the fact that this is not going to be a… a sort of job that you are accustomed to, I would like to hear what you would have planned for an evening with an average client.”

“The location is usually decided by my client, but—”

“Suppose this client did not know where to go and wanted you to choose,” Mr. Sacre cuts in quickly.

“I’d make a reservation at a nice restaurant, but not too formal—probably black tie optional. Before the date, especially for a public figure from a family such as yours, I would make an attempt at finding out a little bit more about my client so that we’d have something to talk about. I would be there to pick her up right on—”

“I’m sorry— _her?_ ” Mr. Sacre interrupts.

Dean blinks, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘her,’” Mr. Sacre says, and yeah, that’s still not making any sense.

“You’re… interviewing me for your little sister, aren’t you?” Dean asks even as he realizes that Crowley set him up. Goddamn it, of _course_ Crowley would have given him the wrong information—he _wants_ Dean to bomb this interview.

“Uh, no. Little brother, actually,” Mr. Sacre says, but instead of looking offended, he’s sitting up in his seat, an interested spark in his eye. “Do you even know his name?”

“I… uh…” Dean flounders, because yeah, he hadn’t looked this up. And even if he _had_ tried to do some research ahead of time, he would have been looking for information on Balthazar Sacre’s little _sister_ and not his little brother, thanks to Crowley. Dean’s willing to bet that Mr. Sacre has at least two younger siblings, one male and one female.

“Wow. You’re woefully underprepared,” Mr. Sacre says, leaning back in his seat and setting his clipboard back on its armrest.

“Sorry—”

“No, don’t be. The other escorts I met were all quite impressive and _very_ well-informed, but you… _you_ must be special,” he says. After a moment, he leans forward, holding his hand out for a second time. “Let’s start over. Balthazar Sacre. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Dean hesitates before reaching forward to shake the man’s hand again, feeling as though something has just gone way over his head. “Dean Winchester,” he says. “Mr. Sacre—”

“Please, call me Balthazar.”

Dean considers this for all of two seconds before correcting himself and starting over, “Balthazar, I… how do you figure I’m… special?”

“Crowley wants to keep you, obviously. So, tell me about yourself. I assume he’s left all sorts of details off your resume,” Balthazar says, folding his hands in his lap.

Dean wasn’t prepared for this scenario, and he has never been in an interview that went like this. How the hell is he supposed to bomb the interview, now? Hell, why is he even bombing it in the first place? He could just as easily give an excellent interview, win Balthazar over, and then decline the job. That’d put Crowley in a pretty damn awkward position—payback for making Dean look like an idiot.

“If you could let me see the information he gave you, I could tell you what was left out of it,” Dean says.

“Of course,” Balthazar says, passing the clipboard over.

Dean scans the sheet quickly. It really doesn’t have much, just some recommendations from high-profile betas and omegas who were pleased with his company, along with a brief description of his character and hobbies. It says nothing about his eidetic memory, and it wouldn’t, knowing Crowley.

“I have a photographic memory,” Dean says as he passes the sheet back to Balthazar. “It’s what gets me jobs accompanying clients to cocktail parties and upper class banquets. If a client needs me to hold a decent conversation, all she—or he—needs to do is send material over the night before the event, and I’ll have it all memorized.”

“Impressive,” Balthazar says. “But mere regurgitation is not enough to carry a conversation. You must be highly intelligent, if you’re able to internalize and then apply the information that you’ve gathered.”

Dean smiles. “Not _highly_ intelligent,” he says, because despite what Bela seems to think, Dean _does_ still have an ounce of humility in him.

Balthazar smiles back, but his eyes are shuttered, calculating. A moment later, he says, “Since Mr. Crowley withheld even the gender of my sibling, I assume he didn’t tell you the details of the job either, that he only said he didn’t want you to take it. That’s hardly fair, seeing as you’re the one who should be deciding whether or not to take the job, not him. Therefore, I’d like to make you the offer myself.”

“All right,” Dean says.

“My little brother is Castiel Sacre, owner of the Sacre Corporation. He is also an unmated omega, at nearly thirty years of age, and I would like to find him a mate,” Balthazar says, and Dean immediately recoils, mentally.

“Why don’t you just set him up with someone?”

“You see, he’s not… well, he’s rather picky. And he doesn’t want to be set up. He is… naïve, and a hopeless romantic, no matter how much he tries to deny it, and—”

“So you’re going to _hire_ someone to seduce him,” Dean concludes, cutting off Balthazar’s excuses.

“Well, not just anyone. Right now, I’m hoping to hire you.”

“I don’t think—”

“Before you reject my offer, at least consider the benefits. You will be mated to the owner of the entire Sacre empire,” Balthazar says. “If I know my brother, and I do know him _very_ well, then he’ll give you access to all of his assets. And of course, I’d pay you for your services, separately.”

“Mating isn’t something you can just _pay_ someone for,” Dean says.

“Think of it this way,” Balthazar says, steepling his fingers. “How much do you usually make in a year, hmm? Half a million, maybe?”

Dean tries to hide his surprise at how close Balthazar’s estimate is. It’s usually a little under half a million, but more than half of it goes into paying off Sam’s debt, and most of the rest is spent on paying the rent and the rehab facility where Sam’s still staying. After all that’s taken out, he’s left with something around fifty thousand for keeping up a high class, professional appearance, and for feeding himself.

“How much do you think Crowley makes in a year, just from his escort service?” Balthazar asks. “I’ll save you the trouble of estimating and just ballpark it at about five million. That’s not counting his other interests, so I’ll put him somewhere around twenty million a year. Meanwhile, the Sacre Corporation includes a _very_ lucrative hotel chain, a pharmaceutical company, _and_ an oil company. Imagine how much money the owner of that corporation would make in a year. How much he’d be worth.”

It’s a tempting offer, that’s for sure. Dean has done the math before, and at the current rate, he’ll have Sam’s rehab costs paid in full four years from now, but it’ll take him something like fourteen years, total—twelve years from now—to pay off Sam’s drug debt, if he keeps working for Crowley. And shit, he _really_ doesn’t wanna still be working as an escort when he’s in his forties.

“How much would you be paying me, to take the job?” Dean asks, and he hates himself for asking it.

Balthazar hums briefly, considering it, before answering, “I could give you half a million up front, just for accepting my offer. And I suppose I could give you another half million when you’ve mated him.”

One million, just like that, Dean thinks. He could pay off the entirety of what he owes to the rehab facility and get Kevin off the hook—that kid has stuck his neck out enough for Sam and Dean already, and it’d be great to pay him back, finally. And after that, with a fortune as big as Castiel’s, Dean could probably get his hands on a couple million easily enough.

Shit, he’s not _really_ considering this, is he?

“I’ll have to talk to him, first,” Dean says.

Looking at Dean with curiosity, Balthazar says, “Surely you don’t need to interview your other clients before sleeping with them.”

Dean glares at him. “No, but I don’t end up _mating_ my other clients, do I?”

“I suppose you don’t,” Balthazar concedes. “Still, I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean asks.

“I do have a picture of him,” Balthazar offers, ignoring Dean’s question. He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. “Just to prove he’s not physically repulsive.”

“And if we’re incompatible?”

“Nonsense, I’m sure you won’t be,” Balthazar says, pulling out a small photo and holding it out. “You’re trained for companionship anyway, aren’t you?”

Dean takes the picture and frowns. The man in the photograph is _pretty_ , not at all repulsive, and there’s no reason why he’d have trouble finding a mate, especially with a fortune like his.

“Anyway, the only reason why we’re having this conversation at all is because Castiel won’t be your average client. You can’t treat him like a client—you have to court him,” Balthazar says.

“I’ve courted clients before,” Dean says a little defensively.

“Yes, of course, but they’ve hired you. They expect it—they play a game with you. This is quite different.”

Dean looks back down at the picture. It wouldn’t be awful to spend the rest of his life looking at this face, especially if it means Sam could come out of rehab and not have to worry at all about Lilith’s people coming after him. Hell, if he needed it, Sam could spend another two years in the program, something that Kevin’s been hinting at for the past two months, and Dean would actually be able to pay for it.

“I would like to know your decision as soon as possible,” Balthazar says. “And please, don’t speak to Mr. Crowley about this meeting until you’ve informed me of your decision. I like to go in prepared when I have to tangle with that slippery bastard.”

Dean can’t help but huff a laugh at that, because Crowley just has that effect on people. Meeting Balthazar’s eyes, he passes the photo back and says, “Tell me more about this little brother of yours.”


	2. Conquistador

_This is a fight for love, lust, hate, desire,_

_We are the children of the great empire._

_(We will, we will, we will rise again.)_

* * *

Kevin sits at his desk, tapping his pen against the dark wood as he tries to think of something that might make Sam more willing to talk to him. He’s had troubled patients in the past—the majority of drug users who enter this facility are troubled in one way or another—but he’s never had anyone who clung onto his secrets for as long as Sam has. The contracted two-year-period is usually enough, but Kevin’s gotten very little about Sam’s past, and that worries him.

His phone rings—his personal phone and not his work one—and he digs it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Dean.”

“Kev,” Dean says warmly. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Kevin answers. “I saw on the log that you came in to visit Sam yesterday.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry about not stopping by after. I was kind of in a hurry.”

Kevin recognizes the excuse for what it is and decides not to call him on it—Sam and Dean have some issues to work out, and he can accept that. “It’s fine,” he says. “Any reason why you’re calling?”

“I just wanted to know how Sam’s doing,” Dean says. “I mean, I saw him walking and talking just fine, and he looked pretty happy gardening, but I just…”

“Wanted to check,” Kevin supplies.

“Yeah. That.”

“He’s doing all right—what you saw yesterday certainly wasn’t a fluke. But uh, I can’t say he’s doing _well_ , necessarily. Again, I would definitely recommend extending his stay here by at least a few months, to give us more of a chance of touching on some difficult subjects, but if you’re still having trouble with… with funding, I understand.”

“So you don’t think he’s well enough to come out yet,” Dean says.

“I don’t think he’s in danger of relapsing, so in that respect, he can leave the facility. That said, I still have reason to worry about his state of mind.”

Dean sighs heavily. “He still hasn’t talked to you about Ruby.”

“Not in detail, no.”

Kevin wishes he could ask Dean, but he’s done it before, and he already knows everything that Dean knows, which is next to nothing. Sam met a girl named Ruby and got into the hard stuff through her, and then she made off with a ton of the supply that he was responsible for distributing, leaving him with the debt—something like that.

Kevin figures there isn’t much else to the story itself, but Sam needs to talk through his feelings if he is to recover.

“Damn it,” Dean mutters, almost too quietly for the phone to catch. Then he says, “I’ll see what I can do about payment. We’ve still got a month and a half left, right?”

“Yes. If two additional years is too big of a commitment for you right now, I can draw up a separate agreement for six months additional treatment and see what my supervisor says.”

“Uh, yeah. That sounds—that’d be amazing. Thanks, Kevin,” Dean says, gratitude apparent in his voice.

“No problem. I’ll get back to you by early next week, all right?”

“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Bye, Dean,” Kevin says. He hangs up and puts his phone away before opening up one of his desk drawers and searching through the files for Sam’s contract.

A quiet knock on the open door draws his attention, and he looks up in time to see Garth entering the office. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he says.

“No,” Kevin says, resuming his search.

“I was gonna come in earlier, but I saw you were on the phone. Your mom?”

“No, Dean.”

Garth’s eyebrows pinch together. “Sam’s brother. He calls you on your private phone?”

“Yeah. We’re friends,” Kevin says, glancing up at Garth as he pulls Sam’s file. “You got something to say about that?”

“No, nothing at all,” Garth says, holding his hands up. “Just wanted to see if you were free to grab lunch together, today.”

“Uh, no,” Kevin answers. “I’m gonna request an extension for Sam’s stay here.”

“You _can_ do that after lunch, you know.”

“I’d rather get it out of the way now and submit it to Marv,” Kevin says. “You go on ahead. We can go out for lunch another time.”

“If you insist,” Garth says. “Be careful though, all right?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Kevin says with a small smile.

“Of course you do,” Garth replies as he leaves the room.

**LOVE**

Castiel hurries down the street toward the French café that Inias favors so much, because today is Wednesday, which means it’s his day of the week to choose a place to eat. Castiel regularly takes lunch with his cousins on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—Castiel chooses the location on Mondays, and Alfie does the honors on Fridays.

He might cut lunch a bit short today, though. He wants to hold a meeting with his half-brothers, just to ensure that everyone is on the same page where their companies are concerned, and although it won’t be taking place until two, he’d like to be back in his office by one to prep.

Lost in his thoughts, Castiel doesn’t realize that he’s not really watching where he’s going until he crashes into a very hard chest and practically bounces off, flailing as he falls backwards.

But a strong arm winds around his lower back, another hand pressing firmly between his shoulder blades, saving him from a painful—and even more embarrassing—landing. Castiel finds himself looking up at a lightly freckled face, at sparkling, green eyes and lush, pink lips that are stretched into an amused smile. Castiel inhales and smells it immediately, under layers of leather and musk— _alpha_.

“Oh, I’m—I’m terribly sorry,” he says, blinking quickly and trying unsuccessfully to tear his gaze away from the Adonis he just collided with.

“It’s fine,” the man says, still smiling, and Castiel thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful voice.

It’s the adrenaline, he tells himself. That’s what makes this man seem unrealistically attractive to him—that and his hormones, of course. The man _did_ just catch him, a pretty classic way of showing off his alpha strength.

Fuck, Castiel is staring. But the man is staring back. Surely that makes it… less rude?

“Thank you,” Castiel says, because he needs to say _something_ , doesn’t he?

“Anytime,” the alpha responds, a hint of promise in the word, and Castiel doesn’t know how to answer. “It’s not every day that I get to catch an omega like you.”

The alpha’s words alert Castiel to the fact that the alpha’s arms are still around him, steadying him, and he quickly takes a step back, remembering himself. “What do you mean, ‘an omega like me’?” he asks, reassessing. Unrealistically attractive, but most likely an asshole. Of course.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” the alpha says immediately, probably picking up on Castiel’s reaction. “It’s just—oh god, this is gonna sound really corny.”

“Prefacing a corny statement by stating that it’s corny generally doesn’t help,” Castiel comments, and the alpha huffs, his expression somewhere between amused and embarrassed. Maybe he’s only half an asshole. Assholes don’t get embarrassed—at least, not in the flustered way.

“I wasn’t really thinking when I said it. I got distracted by uh, by your eyes,” the alpha says, a tint of pink high on his cheeks. “Your scent too, but mostly your eyes—I’ve never seen the likes of them.”

The stranger ducks his head when he’s finished speaking, and Castiel lets him stew for a moment, not sure how he wants to proceed. That doesn’t happen often. Castiel knows himself, knows his mind, and above all, he knows his wants and needs. He is rarely unsure of himself.

Finally, Castiel smiles and says, “That _was_ corny.”

Surprisingly, a note of sweetness filters into the air between them, slightly tart and very enticing. Alphas don’t often broadcast their mortification in this way, either too closed off to show it or too arrogant to feel this sort of embarrassment in the first place, and Castiel finds this display refreshingly endearing. He has to stop himself from swaying closer, wanting more.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says with a gracious smile, letting the alpha off the hook. “It was corny, yes, but not unwelcome. Thank you.”

The alpha’s head shoots up, eyes finding Castiel’s unerringly, relief easy to read on his face. “Oh, thank god,” he says.

“Were you that worried about being laughed at?” Castiel asks.

“Nah, I laugh at myself all the time,” the man replies. “No, I was—well, I’d been hoping you’d agree to—” he stops there, frowning, and seems to shake himself. “I was wondering if I could ask you to get some coffee, with me.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised by the request. “Oh, I—I’m actually on the way to lunch with my cousins.”

The alpha’s face falls a bit, but he smiles nevertheless. “Cousins, huh? It’s okay, I can take a hint.”

“I wasn’t hinting at anything,” Castiel replies, frowning. It takes him just a moment to realize what the alpha took from his words, and he adds, “I really am going to get lunch with my cousins. If you don’t believe me, then you can come along, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Castiel doesn’t realize until the words are already out of his mouth that he has just invited a random alpha to lunch with Inias and Alfie. But then, the man isn’t exactly _random_ , is he? Not just anyone can rattle Castiel like this, incite this sort of unpredictable behavior from him, and despite his reservations, he is intrigued.

“Did you mean that?” the alpha asks, cautious.

He doesn’t want to be presumptuous, Castiel thinks, something like fondness taking root in his chest.

Perhaps Castiel didn’t originally intend to bring the man to lunch with him, but he is warming up to the idea. It would be nice to find a mate, after all, and he sees no harm in giving this man a chance. Sharing a meal with his cousins could prove to be an advantage, too—Inias and Alfie could help Castiel screen for any objectionable qualities, and Castiel will have a chance to see firsthand how the alpha behaves around other omegas.

“Yes,” he decides, nodding.

“It’s not too much of an imposition?” the alpha presses, eyebrows raised.

“Not at all,” Castiel answers. It occurs to him then that he doesn’t even know this man’s name, so he sticks out his hand and says, “Castiel.”

There’s surprise, mixed with a fair bit of pleasure, in the twinkle of the alpha’s eye as he grasps Castiel’s hand and shakes it, grip firm and warm. “Dean,” he replies.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean,” Castiel says. “Please, follow me.”

“After you, then,” Dean responds.

Castiel continues down the street toward the café, sneaking surreptitious glances at the man beside him as they fall into step. Unfortunately, Dean is a bit far from well-dressed. But Castiel and his cousins are regulars at the restaurant, enough that he’s certain they would make an exception for him. Dean’s leather jacket smells fine, and at least he’s wearing black jeans, un-ripped.

The rest of the walk is quiet, Dean a warm and unobtrusive presence at Castiel’s side, and when they reach the café, Dean hurries to hold the door open for him.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, ducking his head a little. He’s unused to being treated like an omega—as owner of a corporation as large as his, he often mimics the status of an alpha or beta, especially out in public, to keep tongues from wagging.

Castiel finds Inias and Alfie seated at their usual table, and they both look surprised by Dean’s presence.

“Who’s your friend?” Inias asks, curious.

“This is Dean,” Castiel answers. “Dean, these are my cousins, Inias and Alfie,” he says, gesturing to the two men at the table in turn.

“Pleased to meet you,” Dean says.

Muriel has reached the table by then—she always notices when Castiel has entered the restaurant—and Castiel says, “Add another setting, please. Dean will be joining us for lunch, today.”

“Right away,” Muriel says, hurrying away. Thankfully, she doesn’t comment on Dean’s attire.

Castiel sits down next to Inias, leaving Dean to take the seat beside Alfie. Castiel almost wants to change the seating arrangements—across from Dean like this, it’s impossible to escape his gaze.

“So… how do you two know each other?” Alfie asks.

“We don’t,” Castiel answers.

“Chance encounter,” Dean says. “You could say we just bumped into each other on the street.”

Castiel huffs. “Literally,” he adds, and Inias and Alfie laugh a little.

“You’ve gotta understand,” Alfie says. “This is a bit strange for us, because our cousin here hasn’t ever brought someone along to our gatherings.”

“Does this make me special, then?” Dean asks, eyes on Castiel.

“My vote is yes,” Inias responds, and Castiel flushes, resisting the urge to duck his head.

Muriel arrives with an extra menu and place setting for Dean, saving Castiel from having to think of a response. She asks, “Is there anything you would like to drink?”

Alfie and Inias already have their coffees, and Castiel is prepared to just ask for water when he remembers that he has that meeting with his half-brothers in the afternoon. So he orders an espresso and is surprised when Dean orders a sweet iced tea—that’s not something an alpha would ordinarily drink. Muriel is well-trained enough that she doesn’t react outwardly, thanking them before leaving the table, but Castiel’s cousins certainly don’t have the same tact.

“Sweet tea?” Alfie says, looking at Dean inquisitively.

Castiel sends Alfie a disapproving look, but of course his cousin misses it entirely, too intent on observing Dean.

“I like the taste,” Dean says with a nonchalant shrug, eyes on Alfie for only a moment before flicking back to Castiel, and it’s impossible to repress the sudden warmth in Castiel’s chest at holding Dean’s attention.

“Dean, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Inias asks.

“Oh, sure,” Dean says. “What would you like to know?”

Inias shrugs. “Mm, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a mechanic,” Dean says, and Castiel can definitely see that, Dean taking off his leather jacket and shirt to work under the hood of a car that needs fixing.

The image doesn’t fit at all with the café that they’re currently sitting in, and Castiel suddenly realizes that he and Dean exist in markedly different worlds. Yet somehow, Dean is still so comfortable in this environment—he hasn’t appeared nervous in any way, even though a quick look around at the other tables would reveal to him that he is underdressed.

It’s a boldness that Castiel doesn’t have, and Castiel finds himself admiring Dean all the more for it.

“So you fix cars,” Inias says. Dean nods, and Inias asks, “Any specialties?”

“Not to brag, but I could probably figure out what’s wrong with any type of car. But if you’re gonna ask what kind of cars I prefer, I definitely go for older cars. Classics.”

“Oh, you’d get along well with Balthazar, then. He’s got a whole collection of old cars that none of us care about,” Alfie says, smiling.

“Balthazar is my brother,” Castiel explains, at Dean’s slightly lost expression.

“Oh,” Dean says. “Well, I only have an average mechanic’s salary, so I’ve just got the one car, but she’s reliable, hasn’t ever failed me.”

“Oh no, you’re one of _those_ people,” Alfie complains jokingly.

“ _What_ people?” Dean says, mock-affronted.

“Y’know, people who personify their cars.”

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Dean says, shaking his head. When Alfie only laughs, he says, “No, I’m serious. You’ve gotta withhold judgment ‘til you’ve at least ridden inside her once. She runs smooth, man. No car will ever compare.”

“I’m surprised you’re not taking your car out for coffee,” Castiel says, smiling.

“Oh, she’s a beauty, but she doesn’t hold a candle to you,” Dean says. His eyes go wide as soon as he’s finished speaking, and Castiel gets the sense that he didn’t mean to say that aloud. Coughing, Dean picks up his menu and hides behind it.

Meanwhile, Alfie catches Castiel’s eye, grinning widely, and Inias elbows him lightly. Castiel just tries his best not to blush.

Thankfully, Muriel arrives to end the awkward moment, and Castiel thinks he’ll have to leave an especially generous tip for her opportune timing today. Setting Dean and Castiel’s drinks in front of them, she lifts up her notepad and asks, “Are you ready to order, or will you need a few more minutes?”

Castiel glances at Dean, who’s still looking at his menu. “Dean, are you ready?”

“Mm, yes,” Dean answers, looking back up. Muriel turns to him first, so he says, “I’ll have the uh, lamb burger.”

“Good choice,” Muriel says before looking over at Alfie.

“I’d like the… crispy calamari salad,” he says. Alfie is on a quest to find the place that makes the best salad in this city, so he always tries the salad at each place where they eat. There are only three salads on the lunch menu here, though, so he alternates from week to week.

“Halibut for me,” Inias says, and then it’s Castiel’s turn to order.

“I’ll have the quiche, today.”

“All right. Anything else?” Muriel asks as she collects their menus.

“No, I think we’re fine,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Muriel returns before retreating.

“Looks like you guys come here pretty often,” Dean comments.

“Once a week,” Alfie answers. “Because Inias is apparently opposed to trying new things.”

“I _like_ this place. Will you _ever_ stop nagging me about it? Wednesdays are my choice, aren’t they?”

“Hey, I’m all for the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ approach to life,” Dean says before Alfie can speak. “And what do you mean, Wednesdays are your choice?”

“We eat lunch together three days a week,” Inias explains. “Castiel chooses the location on Mondays, Alfie chooses on Fridays, and I have Wednesdays.”

“That’s actually… pretty nice,” Dean says, an almost wistful look crossing his face. But it’s gone quickly, and Castiel wonders what he was thinking of. He has no chance to ask, because Dean’s already speaking—“So, why is Alfie’s name so normal?”

“What?” Inias says, frowning.

“Well, Castiel and Inias aren’t exactly common names,” Dean elaborates. “Probably completely unique, come to think of it. But Alfie is… you know, kind of an average name.”

“Oh. His given name is actually Samandriel,” Castiel explains. “Alfred is his middle name.”

“You’ve gotta understand, though,” Alfie pipes up, “it’s a _horrible_ name. It’s long and clumsy and annoying, and who the hell wants to be called Samandriel Sacre, anyway?”

Dean chuckles. “It’s definitely as unique as the others,” he comments. “But I’ve gotta agree with you—Alfie is totally a better name.”

“I like him,” Alfie says to Castiel, smiling. His eyes flash, the way they do when he’s come up with a new idea that he likes very much, and Castiel can only wait apprehensively as he says, “Cas, you should invite him to the Autumn Formal this Friday.”

“Alfie—” Castiel starts.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Inias immediately chips in, eyes bright. “You can’t _always_ come on your own. It’s unbecoming, for an omega of your status.”

“What do you think, Dean? It’ll only be about two or three hours of your time, and the food is excellent,” Alfie says.

Castiel almost doesn’t want to look at Dean, mortified because his cousins are essentially pressuring this beautiful alpha into attending a ball with him, but when his eyes do find Dean’s, they’re only amused, no hint of distaste or discomfort, and the knot in Castiel’s chest loosens a little.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean says, meeting Castiel’s gaze straight on. “Castiel should be the one to ask, don’t you think?”

Castiel feels his cheeks heat up and curses his relatively light complexion, wishing he were a few shades darker, dark enough to hide his blush. “Are you free on Friday night?” he asks, focusing on Dean’s eyes because he thinks he might lose his nerve if he looks over at Alfie and Inias instead.

“I might be.”

“Could you spare two hours to escort me to a ball?” Castiel says, keeping his voice even. “I must warn you that it’ll be dreadfully boring, but as Alfie said, the catering company is stellar.”

Dean breaks into a smile then, and Castiel wants to count the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You know, it’s cute that you think I’ll agree because of the _food_. Of course I’ll go,” he says.

Castiel can’t help a smile of his own as he responds, “I’m glad.”

**LOVE**

Sam’s never been much of a football fan, but he’s got the rules down enough to follow along. Andy doesn’t really seem all that interested either, to be honest, but Ava and Jake are fully engrossed in the game that’s going on onscreen, so Sam does his best to focus.

Then he frowns, because Stanford is definitely the team with the red helmets, uniforms in white and gold. He hadn’t even realized that they were watching college football.

And he doesn’t like thinking about Stanford. He’d graduated, had been excited for a new job and the next step of his life, but then _Ruby_ had happened, and—

“Sam, you okay?”

Andy’s voice cuts through his darkening thoughts, and Sam manages a small smile. “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he answers. Jake and Ava shoot them dirty looks but don’t comment. A beat later, Sam adds, quieter than before, “Thanks.”

Andy pats his shoulder and says no more. Sam’s glad to have Andy—they were admitted right around the same time, and while they don’t know much about each other’s pasts, they were both betrayed by someone very close to them. Sam had Ruby, and Andy… Andy had a fraternal twin or something.

They’ve never really talked about it.

Come to think of it, Sam doesn’t even know why Andy’s here—what he was addicted to. He knows that Ava used to shoot up—he’s seen the track marks on her arms. Jake says he was also a heroin addict, but he snorted it, so there aren’t any easily visible signs.

The footage on the TV pauses suddenly, and Ava and Jake both make anguished noises and the same aborted hand motion, this strange reach for the TV as though they can telepathically will the tape to start playing again.

“Hey, guys,” Kevin says, walking into view from behind the couch that Ava and Jake are sitting on. “How is everyone doing today?”

“I was great ‘til you paused the game,” Jake says, shrugging.

“We’re fine,” Andy says, making an OK sign with his fingers.

“I was gonna take you guys in for group, but if you’d rather finish the game, I can round up a couple of the others first and talk to you later,” Kevin offers.

“That’d be great,” Ava says.

“All right. I’ll leave you to it, then,” Kevin says, pressing play on the remote in his hand. Before turning to leave the room, his gaze lands on Sam, and Sam swears that his eyes linger for a heartbeat.

And then Kevin’s walking out of the room, and Sam breathes easier.

“He looked so calm today. I’ll bet his heat just passed,” Ava says. “Heat suppressants have a horrible tendency to make people jumpy.”

“Shut up,” Sam snaps suddenly.

“Dude, what’s it to you? It’s not like I’m interested in the kid,” Ava says, frowning at Sam. And yeah, Sam probably shouldn’t have said a thing. Next thing he knows, Ava is gasping, eyes wide. “No… you’re not—”

“I’m not,” Sam says firmly.

“What do you guys think?” Ava says, nudging Jake. “Because I spy with my little eye a _liar_ who’s hot for doctor,” she finishes in a singsong voice.

“Ava, quit projecting,” Andy says, and Sam’s grateful for his intervention because he’s spent enough time thinking about his inappropriate attachment to Kevin, and Ava teasing him about it, even if she’s not serious, isn’t helping. “ _You’re_ the one who’s been making passes at Dr. Tran ever since you got here.”

“Slander!” Ava protests. “Besides, I’m totally not his type. Sammy over here, on the other hand…”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam says uncomfortably.

“Oh right, that’s only Dean’s nickname for you, right?”

“Dude, chill out,” Andy says.

“Don’t call me _dude_ , Andy! Do I look like a _dude_ to you?” Ava says.

“Can you guys shut up? I’m trying to watch the game,” Jake finally says, arms folded across his chest.

Ava rolls her eyes and settles back against the cushions next to Jake.

Sam stews where he is for a moment before getting to his feet, because he doesn’t think he can be in this room anymore. “I’m going back to my room. I’ll see you guys in group.”

“Yep! I’ll come get you,” Andy says cheerily.

Sam flashes a smile in his friend’s direction before exiting the room.

**LOVE**

Dean pulls up to the very same hotel where he’d met Balthazar for the interview just five days ago, and it feels surreal that he’s here now, with Castiel fucking Sacre in the passenger seat of the Impala. He gets out of the car, passing the keys to a valet on his way to the other side of the car. Taking a deep breath, he pulls open the door for Castiel and extends a hand.

It’s just a job. Just like any other job.

Except that it’s _not_.

Castiel takes his hand and steps out of the car, and Dean closes the door for him. Dean lifts an arm, waits for Castiel to take it, and then starts walking him up the stairs to the glass doors.

“Mr. Sacre,” the doormen say in unison, opening the doors and bowing them in.

“Roy, Walt,” Castiel greets in return as they pass by, and Dean is impressed that he knows even the names of the freaking _doormen_.

They cross the lobby, and Dean sees several couples making their way up the winding staircases on either side of the place, converging on a large balcony that leads to the main ballroom. Dean leads his date to the staircase that has less people on it, and they make their way up at a measured pace.

“Nervous at all?” Castiel asks, leaning in.

Not in the slightest. This is his fucking _job_.

“A little,” Dean lies, smiling quickly.

Castiel seems to buy it, placing his other hand on Dean’s forearm and squeezing lightly. “I’m sure you’re going to be fine,” he says reassuringly.

“Well, y’know. Not exactly my crowd,” Dean says. He intentionally chose one of his cheaper suits to wear today, one from when he was still a beginner and didn’t have as much of an eye for expensive suits. Castiel hadn’t commented on it when he saw it, but Dean bets that he’s giving Dean points for effort.

“If you’re unsatisfied after this, we can go out for burgers and a movie,” Castiel suggests, and Dean laughs at the thought of him and Castiel walking into a burger joint dressed the way they are.

“Maybe for our next date,” Dean responds lightly, and Castiel turns his head to look at Dean, eyes startled but _definitely_ pleased. “What, you thought tonight would be enough for me?”

Castiel chuckles and faces forward again. “I was thinking more along the lines of you being scared off, after tonight,” he says, and it’s obvious he’s biting his lips to hold back a smile.

“That so?” Dean says with a playful smile, and Castiel nods. “All right, how ‘bout this: if I make it through the night, you gotta go on a real date with me. Just the two of us.”

Castiel licks his lips. “Ask me again at the end of the night.”

They reach the top of the stairs then and join the other couples waiting to get in the door.

“Castiel!” a voice calls from behind them, and Dean starts to turn, but Castiel stops him.

“That is my eldest half-brother,” Castiel says in a low voice. “His name is Michael, and he’s generally tolerable. I’ll introduce you properly when he reaches us.”

Dean only nods, and then a man is stepping around Castiel, pulling him into a quick, one-armed embrace. He’s pretty tall, dark hair cropped short, with green eyes that look just as intense in person as they do in the photo that Balthazar attached to his profile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Michael,” Castiel says, and his posture is definitely a lot straighter than it was five seconds ago. “This is my escort, Dean Winchester. Dean, this is my brother, Michael. He’s the CEO of our hotel chain.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dean says, extending a hand.

“Likewise,” Michael responds, shaking Dean’s hand. He has to tilt his head up a little to actually meet Dean’s eyes, but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. And it wouldn’t—it’d take more than just a height advantage to intimidate a CEO.

The line is moving forward, so Dean leads Castiel a few steps forward, and Michael follows.

“Are the others here yet?” Castiel asks.

“I’ve already seen Lucifer inside, and Balthazar and Rachel have shown their faces. Gabriel won’t be able to make it, though,” Michael says.

“Strange,” Castiel says. “Did he say why?”

“I believe his exact words were, ‘I can’t make it because I don’t want to,’” Michael quotes, and Dean doesn’t bother to repress the laughter that bubbles out of his throat.

“Of course,” Castiel says as Michael shoots a distasteful look in Dean’s direction. “And Raphael?”

“He should be here soon. You know how it is with him,” Michael says.

Dean and Castiel go inside then, but Michael stays outside, ostensibly to greet the more important guests. “How is it with Raphael?” Dean asks, because he’s gotta pretend he doesn’t know anything.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “I don’t know how closely you follow politics, but he’s a state senator with a packed schedule, so he’s almost always late for company gatherings.”

“I see,” Dean says, looking around the room.

When he received the emailed information from Balthazar last night, he realized that he’d attended this ball the same time last year, on one of his jobs. He hadn’t really paid attention to the Sacre family then because he was just escorting a young omega, the daughter of one of the guests. He hopes to god that she’s not here tonight, and that she doesn’t recognize him if she is.

He notes that the decorations are more austere than last year’s, a lot less flashy. There’s a sort of elegance to the simplicity, and he likes it.

“Who was in charge of the setup here?” Dean asks as they make their way through the room.

“A cousin of mine,” Castiel responds.

“One of the two I met on Wednesday?” Dean asks.

“Oh, no. She’s… I don’t see her at the moment. But I can point her out to you when we do see her,” Castiel says. A woman appears from Castiel’s right, and Dean recognizes her as the sister even as Castiel greets her with a hug and a smile, far more sincere than the ones he gave Michael. “Rachel, hello.”

“Castiel, you look well,” she says when she’s backed up a step. Her gaze shifts, and then she says, “And who is this handsome gentleman?”

“This is Dean,” Castiel answers. “Dean, this is my sister, Rachel.”

Rachel Sacre: thirty-two-year-old beta, with a job as the Chief Risk Officer for both the hotel chain _and_ the oil company. She’s extremely good with numbers and has a scarily good memory. Dean remembers reading a note Balthazar had added on the side, with eidetic spelled incorrectly.

“Hello,” Rachel says, shaking Dean’s hand. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard my brother mention you.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” Dean says, earning a jab to the ribs from Castiel.

“We met very recently,” Castiel explains. “Dean was kind enough to agree to be my escort tonight.”

“And how has it been so far?” Rachel asks.

“Well, I haven’t been scared off yet, right?” Dean says with a small smile.

“Ah well, the night’s still young—the banquet hasn’t even officially begun yet,” Rachel says. Turning to her brother, she adds, “If he can brave thirteen Sacres in the same room, he’s a keeper.”

Castiel just rolls his eyes and says, “Come. I need to greet the rest of my family members at least once, and then we can make our escape.”

“Escape? We only just got here,” Dean says.

Castiel fixes him with a surprised look. “I would have thought you’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Hey, I agreed to escort you here, so you don’t have to cut the night short because of me.”

“You’re not just being polite, are you?” Castiel asks, looking up at him curiously.

“Castiel, boss, how are you?” a stranger says before Dean can answer. This person Dean _doesn’t_ recognize, so he must not be a member of the Sacre family.

“Abner,” Castiel greets. “Where is Gadreel?”

“Getting drinks. He hates these gatherings,” Abner responds.

“He’s certainly not alone,” Castiel says.

Eyes landing on Dean, Abner assesses him for a moment, probably taking in the quality of his clothing, before asking, “Who is your escort?”

“Dean,” Dean says, sticking his hand out before Castiel can introduce him.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Abner, Head of Human Resources, here. So if you’ve got any complaints against the staff tonight, I’m the man to tell,” he says with a small smile.

“Good to know.”

“What do you do?” Abner asks.

“I’m a mechanic,” Dean replies, and he doesn’t miss the way Castiel stiffens a little at his side.

“Ah,” Abner says, as though that explains everything, and well, as far as what Castiel is supposed to believe, it _does_ explain everything. “Pardon me—I think I’ve spotted Gadreel looking for me.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, leading Dean away.

“Do you not want me to tell people that I’m a mechanic?” Dean asks in a low voice, because he doesn’t know why Castiel tensed up earlier.

“Oh, by all means, go ahead,” Castiel says. “I am not ashamed of your profession, nor should you be. I just—Abner is not a man without prejudices, and I worried that he would… I don’t know, make a stupid comment, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t have been offended,” Dean says, but the thought that Cas was ready to get offended on his behalf puts an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. “This obviously isn’t my circle, y’know.”

Cas looks like he’s about to respond, but then his eyes land on someone, and he smiles. It’s the Michael smile though, and when Dean follows his line of sight, he spots Lucifer coming their way with a young man in tow.

“Castiel, darling, how _are_ you?” Lucifer says, giving him almost exactly the same one-armed hug that Michael did. Without waiting for Cas to respond, he gestures to the young man hanging off his arm and says, “This is Nicholas, my date tonight. Nick, meet my little brother.”

 _Half_ -brother, Dean corrects mentally, and he wonders whether or not that bothers Cas.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cas says perfunctorily, and Dean’s almost amazed at how quickly he picked up Cas’s tells, whether or not he is being sincere.

“And who are you?” Lucifer asks, looking over at Dean.

“Dean Winchester,” he answers, holding out his hand. God, there have been _way_ too many handshakes tonight. “I’m Cas’s escort, tonight.”

“Just tonight?” Lucifer presses, and the way he looks at Dean makes it seem like he’s calculating.

“For now,” Cas answers, drawing Lucifer’s attention away from Dean.

Then Nick whispers something into Lucifer’s ear, and they excuse themselves before taking their leave. Dean can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, because something just seems _off_ about Lucifer. According to Balthazar’s paperwork, Lucifer is the CEO of the pharmaceutical company that Cas owns. He is Michael’s fraternal twin, forty-one years old this year, and he wants to take over the company.

Supposedly, it’s a goal that he and Michael share.

That’s probably why Lucifer seemed off, Dean thinks. The guy is an alpha, but he’s gotta take orders from an omega who’s over a decade younger than him and isn’t even fully his little brother. Dean wouldn’t have issues with it personally, but he can see how some people would find that problematic.

“Dean, you came!” a familiar voice says, and Dean turns in time to see Alfie approaching, with Inias not far behind him.

“Of course I did,” Dean replies, smiling. He is genuinely fond of these two. Balthazar had named them as the youngest members of the Sacre family, at twenty-six and twenty-seven.

“I’m hurt. You’re happier to see him than you are to see me,” Cas says, and Dean laughs.

“It’s because we only just saw you like six hours ago,” Alfie says.

“Yeah, seeing you isn’t anything special,” Inias adds.

“Well, that’s changed my entire worldview,” Cas says dryly. “I may as well leave now before I find out just how insignificant I am to everyone else at this party.”

“Don’t be silly,” Alfie says. “I’m sure Dean cares about your existence at least a little.”

When Cas turns to look up at Dean, Dean purses his lips, humming as though he’s gotta think about it, before saying, “Yeah, just a little bit.”

“And now I have a reason to live again,” Cas says, deadpan. Dean, Alfie, and Inias all laugh a little, but Cas remains straight-faced, and god _damn_ , he would have an excellent poker face.

“Dean, you don’t mind if we steal Cas for just a bit, do you?” Alfie says.

“Wait, what—” Cas starts, but Dean just nods and waves them away, so Alfie and Inias pull Cas to the right, toward one of the bars.

Dean hovers awkwardly for a moment, picking out a few members of the Sacre family in the crowd—Anna Sacre, alpha, thirty-three, is a cousin of Cas’s, but Alfie and Inias are not her siblings. She’s standing with little brother, Uriel—also an alpha, five years her junior. He catches sight of Naomi Sacre, alpha, older sibling to Alfie and Inias and therefore Cas’s cousin. Balthazar had labeled her as a bitch and a pain in the ass to deal with whenever their paths crossed, but he’d added that she was indisputably brilliant when it came to all things strategic or in any way intellectual.

And then there’s Balthazar himself, coming right at Dean.

“Dean,” Balthazar says, smiling. “Where’s Cas?”

“With Alfie and Inias,” Dean replies, irked at how careless Balthazar is being, after all the time he spent telling Dean to be careful. He’s just about to ask Balthazar who he is, with the intent of pretending not to know him, when Rachel appears, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hello again,” she says, looking between them suspiciously. “How do you two know each other?”

Damn it, Balthazar’s greeting definitely seemed too friendly for two strangers meeting for the first time, and judging from Rachel’s tone, she’s been watching long enough to notice it.

“Well, Dean’s a mechanic,” Balthazar says, “and as you know, I love cars. I brought in one of them to be fixed, once. He did a good job on it.”

“Oh,” Rachel says. “Which car? You’ve got so many.”

“Eh…”

“No, no, I remember this one,” Dean says, screwing up his face a little to give off the impression that it’s hard for him to recall when in fact he could list off the year, make, and model of every car Balthazar owns—he’d included that information in his own profile. “It was a Porsche. Definitely a Porsche. ’59, right?”

“Right, yes, of course,” Balthazar says with a smile.

“Mhmm,” Rachel grunts skeptically. “You,” she says, eyes on Balthazar, “need to take better care of your toys. And if you won’t do that, at least keep track of them.” To Dean, she says, “Excuse me.”

“You’re excused, dear sister,” Balthazar says as Rachel turns her back and walks away. As soon as Rachel is far enough away, Dean fixes a murderous glare on Balthazar. The man just looks back, a hint of wry amusement twisting his lips, and says, “Well, Dean, seems you weren’t joking about that photographic memory. Color me impressed.”

**LOVE**

“Has he asked you on a date yet, for just the two of you?” Alfie asks as soon as Dean is out of earshot.

Castiel sighs. “I don’t like how interested you two are in my social life.”

“That’s because you never _have_ a social life,” Alfie says. “Anyway—did he or didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And what did you say?”

“Frankly, it’s none of your business, is it?” Castiel responds.

“That’s not quite fair,” Inias says. “If you lose the company, everything’s going to change. You know Michael and Lucifer disapprove of omegas in high positions, so Alfie and I would at the very least be demoted. Worst case scenario, we could even lose our jobs entirely.”

“It wouldn’t be _that_ bad. They have omegas working in their respective companies,” Castiel reasons.

“Only because you’re in charge, and you’d get on their case if they didn’t,” Inias says.

“Exactly,” Alfie agrees. “So! If you’re interested in this guy, _please_ don’t cut him off just because you’re worried that he’s not interested. We’ve been watching since you guys came in, and he’s looked slightly uncomfortable the whole time, but he never left your side once, and I don’t know whether or not you noticed, but he was kinda angling you away from other alphas.”

“What—” Castiel starts, disbelieving.

“He _was_ ,” Alfie insists. “Isn’t that right, Inias?”

“Very, _very_ subtle. He might not even have been doing it on purpose,” Inias says. “I know body language, and that was definitely an alpha trying to cut off any other alphas’ chances with you.”

Castiel wants to argue, but Inias works as the head of the Human Resources Department at the oil company, and he _is_ more familiar with body language than Castiel is. Trying desperately to change the subject, Castiel asks, “How often does body language factor in when you’re hiring someone?”

Inias gives him a perplexed look and says, “Why? Are you looking to hire someone? You never handle that sort of thing personally—it’s not your job.”

Retreating, Castiel asks Alfie, “I gave you a job to do at the Pharm. How’d that go?”

Alfie blinks at him. “Well, before I went over, I sent a request for internal auditing, just so that they wouldn’t be expecting my presence in the warehouses. I didn’t find any items with the serial numbers that you gave me, though. Could’ve been a mistake.”

“Unlikely,” Castiel mutters.

“It was a bit strange, though. They gave me a full report, rather than the raw data. Maybe Lucifer’s not giving his people enough work to do—whenever I send over internal auditing requests to Hotel or Oil, I get a _ton_ of raw data to sift through.”

That _is_ strange, but Castiel needs to investigate further before he can really do anything about it.

“Y’know, you can’t distract us that easily,” Inias says then, and Castiel sighs.

“I mean, nice try and all, but we still think you should go on that date with Dean,” Alfie says.

“Let me just get through tonight first, all right?” Castiel says.

His cousins smile at that response, probably because they’ve already sensed that he’s willing to accept a second date with Dean. They really do spend too much time with him.

“You should probably get back to him,” Inias says, looking off to the right. “I think Balthazar’s found him, so he’ll need saving, in a minute.”

Castiel chuckles. “I’ll let them talk for a bit. It’s a perfect test of his patience.”

**LOVE**

Kevin’s sitting in his lap, eyes wide and questioning even as he nods, so Sam pulls his arm slightly closer, turning it so that Kevin’s palm faces up. “It’ll just be a pinch,” Sam murmurs, and when Kevin only nods again, Sam leans in to kiss him.

The needle goes in easy, smooth, and Sam depresses the plunger.

“Just give it a sec to kick in,” he says, removing the syringe and setting it aside.

“Mm,” Kevin hums, scooting closer and pressing quick, chaste kisses to Sam’s jaw.

Sam reaches up and tilts Kevin’s chin up, plying that sweet mouth with long, wet kisses. He wraps his arms around Kevin’s back, pulling him in tight, and Kevin goes easily, hips grinding down slowly, fluidly, like he was _made_ to do this, and Sam can’t help but groan, pushing up into the contact.

“Fuck, Kev, baby, you’re good—doing so good,” Sam manages, hands dropping to rest on Kevin’s hips.

Kevin laughs, a beautiful sound, and Sam draws him in with one hand cupping the back of his head, claiming his lips again.

But then Kevin’s motions go jerky, uncoordinated, and he falls back with a gasp. Sam grabs onto him before he can actually fall to the ground, off the chair that they’re sitting in, but Kevin’s eyes are almost all iris, mouth wide open as he draws in quick breaths.

“Wait—no, no, Kevin—” Sam protests, and shit, Kevin has gone really hot, unnaturally hot, under his hands, body shivering uncontrollably.

It’s not possible—Sam knows how much he gave Kevin, took care not to make it too much—

And then it’s Ruby’s face he’s looking at, Ruby sitting in his lap, grinning smugly. “You’re ripping him apart, Sam,” she says, leaning closer, and Sam’s helpless in his chair, unable to move. “You’re going to tear this beautiful, sweet, innocent omega to pieces, and you’re gonna _love_ it. You know it, don’t you?”

No, no, Sam would never—it’s not—Kevin’s not dying—

“You never could help it, could you?” Ruby goes on. “My loving, gentle alpha.”

“No—no, what are you—how did you even—” Sam sputters.

“I love you, alpha,” Ruby says through blood-red lips, and Sam wonders wildly if it’s Kevin’s blood that’s staining them. “Don’t you love me?”

 _No_ , Sam thinks emphatically, and the world shifts around him, colors and shapes blurring together—

—and then he sits up with a jolt, eyes flying open.

He looks around himself, heart racing, and finds that he’s in his room at the clinic, shirt and sweats plastered to his body with cold sweat. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he reaches to the side and grabs the glass of water on his nightstand to drink from it. He sets it back down when it’s empty.

Kevin’s fine. Kevin’s not dead or dying. He’s safe and sound, nice and far away from Sam.

Shit, Sam thinks as he places a hand over his heart, trying to slow it down. Shit, that was terrifying. He has had nightmares before, but they usually don’t focus on Kevin like that. It was probably seeing the track marks on Ava’s arm when they played ping pong earlier today—he’d gone in to see Kevin right after, and he’d spent an idle moment wondering what Kevin’s arm would look like in a similar state.

Cursing his mind, Sam gets out of bed and paces for a while, because he’s definitely too wound up to sleep. But the last thing he wants is to leave his room and potentially run into a nurse or something, because then they’d call Kevin, and god, Sam doesn’t think he can see Kevin right now.

He thinks about calling Dean, but he doesn’t have a phone. And besides, it… yeah, it wouldn’t be a good idea. Telling Dean would just make him worried. Dean’s got enough on his plate cleaning up Sam’s mess without Sam going to him with crap like this.

Finally, Sam crawls back into bed and closes his eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly.

 _Don’t you love me?_ Ruby’s voice repeats in his mind, and Sam shudders, curling up on his side and drawing the covers up to his shoulders.


	3. Up in the Air

_I'll wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love._

* * *

Dean finds himself in the same seat he’d sat in six days ago, watching Cecily work her magic. Only this time, he’s here because he wants to see Crowley, not the other way around.

“Mr. Crowley will see you now,” Cecily says suddenly.

Dean hadn’t even noticed that she was talking to Crowley—she seemed to be talking to a client over the phone just moments ago. But he doesn’t bother to question it, getting to his feet and entering Crowley’s office. The man is seated behind his desk, as he always is.

“Ah, Dean. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I got the job,” Dean says.

“The job,” Crowley repeats, raising one eyebrow. “What are you—” but he cuts himself off mid-query and sighs. “Ah, Balthazar, that slippery little bugger. Well. I take it you’ve already made good your victory, then. It seems congratulations are in order for the _great_ Dean Winchester.”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean says. “I just came in here to tell you that I’m leaving.”

“Yes, of course,” Crowley says. “Cecily has termination paperwork at her desk. No need to fill anything in—just sign on the dotted line, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Dean’s surprised that Crowley’s not even putting up a fight, but he’ll take it. The guy probably can’t do anything too drastic against the Sacre Corporation, anyway.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Crowley calls after him as he walks out of the office.

Dean closes the door, and Cecily turns to him with a small smile. “I uh, need some termination paperwork,” Dean says to her.

“Oh,” she says, smile fading a little. “So you’ve moved on to bigger and better things, then?” she asks as she pulls open one of the drawers in her desk and removes a folder.

“In a sense,” Dean replies.

“Well, I guess I don’t blame you for wanting to leave,” Cecily says, opening the folder and taking out a small packet. “You don’t need to fill—”

“Yeah, Crowley said that already. Just tell me where to sign,” Dean interrupts.

Cecily flips to the last page and draws an X in front of a dotted line before turning the packet toward Dean and handing him the pen. “Well, good luck,” she says as he signs.

“Thanks,” Dean says. And then, because he’s feeling a little impulsive and he won’t be seeing her again anyway, he asks, “I’m curious—how do you handle dealing with…” he gestures toward the closed door, hoping she gets his meaning.

Cecily smiles. “Believe it or not, Mr. Crowley is very kind to me,” she says.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _Really_. Crowley. Kind.”

“I know he doesn’t look it,” Cecily says, laughing lightly, “but he _does_ care, underneath all that… puffed up pompousness.”

“God, I really don’t see it,” Dean says, flipping the packet closed and passing the pen back to her.

“I didn’t think you would,” she answers.

“Well, I won’t be seeing you again, so. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cecily says with a fond smile.

Dean leaves the room then, and a few minutes later, he finds himself on the sidewalk in front of the building, trying to decide whether or not he’ll be able to manage his next task on the phone. But no, it’ll definitely be better for him if he goes to talk to Bobby in person, so he crosses the street, gets into the Impala, and heads over to Singer Auto.

He gets there a little over fifteen minutes later and parks on the street before jogging up the slight incline to the lot. Bobby is nowhere to be seen, but Ash’s legs are sticking out from underneath an old Volvo, and Dean kicks his boot when he’s within range.

“Ow!” Ash protests, but he doesn’t slide out from under the car. “Who is that?”

“Dean.”

After a pause, Ash says, “ _Dean_. Ah, the prodigal son returns.”

“Yeah, yeah. Is Bobby around?”

“Yep, around he is,” Ash says. “If you don’t see him, he’s probably in the office.”

“All right. Thanks,” Dean says, walking past the car and farther into the garage. He knocks on the door to the office when he reaches it and hears Bobby shouting something about being patient, so he backs up a step and looks around. Not much seems to have changed in the time he’s been gone.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bobby says when he opens the door. “The hell are you doing back here, boy? Come on in.”

Dean lets Bobby yank him into the office and waits ‘til the door is closed before saying, “I’m out of the escort business, Bobby.”

“That’s good news, son… but what about Sam’s debt?”

“I uh, figured something else out,” Dean says.

Bobby squints at him skeptically. “Figured what out? What are you doing now?”

“Relax, Bobby. It’s not—”

“Don’t tell me what it’s _not_ , boy. I wanna know what it _is_ ,” Bobby demands, glaring at him.

Dean meets his gaze, trying to stare him down, but Bobby’s been like a father to Dean for too long, and it’s only a matter of time before he knuckles under. “Look, I uh, I might’ve met someone.”

“You’re mating someone for money,” Bobby guesses, voice flat.

“Technically, I—” Dean starts, but he cuts himself off, because the truth, that he’s been hired to mate someone for money, is even worse than what Bobby thinks. So he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay, that’s it.”

“Does this someone know why you’re mating her?”

“Him,” Dean corrects automatically. “And uh, he doesn’t know about Sam, yet.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Boy, that is something you’re gonna have to talk to him about, before you get hitched. Mating means commitment and trust, and you can’t have that if you’re lying to him, even if it’s by omission.”

“I’ll talk to him before it happens,” Dean says.

“Mhmm,” Bobby grunts skeptically. “So I’m guessing you’re here because you didn’t wanna tell him your real job, right?”

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. About that—”

“Yeah, I’ll cover for you,” Bobby says with an aggrieved sigh. “And I’ll talk to Ash. You can come back and work, if you need to.”

“That’d be great. Thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby just fixes a critical eye on Dean and says, “You’d better know what you’re dealing with.”

“I do, Bobby. I swear.”

After a moment, Bobby says, “All right. Let me go talk to Ash, and we’ll see what needs doing. If you’ve got no other plans, you may as well get started on your alibi today.”

Without waiting for a response, Bobby pushes his way out of the room.

**LUST**

After dinner, Kevin gets ready to do the dishes—he comes over to his mom’s house every Saturday night for dinner, and since she does all the cooking, he does all the cleaning afterward. Dinner tonight was a subdued affair, because the anniversary of Dad’s death is right around the corner, and Mom always gets quieter, more contemplative, around this time of year.

“Those can wait ‘til later,” Mom says, catching Kevin’s wrist before he can even finish stacking up the empty plates. “Just sit with me, for now.”

“Okay,” Kevin says, leaning back in his chair again.

They sit in companionable silence for about a minute, and then Mom says, “Kevin, I know it’s not something you like talking about, and you know how much I’ve supported you getting higher education and a job at Silver Reflections, but…” she sighs, and Kevin already knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t know how to head her off. “I want grandchildren,” she finishes, as expected.

God, Kevin doesn’t know what to tell her.

“You said that you didn’t want distractions while you were figuring out your career and your future, but now you’re done with school, and you’ve been at your job for three years, but you’re still not…” she sighs again. “Kevin, the older an omega gets, the less desirable—”

“Mom!” Kevin says sharply, cutting her off.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “But it’s true. Channing’s mated already, and she’s an alpha, Kevin. Why can’t you—”

“I’m only twenty-three, Mom. I’m not—I’ve still got time, okay?”

“You do realize that your father was already carrying you when he was twenty-three, right?”

“I’m not my dad,” Kevin says. “And we’re not living in the Middle Ages, when an omega’s worth was based on the strength and prowess of his alpha, anyway.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Kevin. You know what I’m worried about.”

“Even if I do die alone, that’s my problem and not yours.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Mom protests. “You’re my only child, and if I ever want to have grandchildren, you’re my only hope. Of course it’s my problem!”

“Give me time.”

“I _have_ given you time,” Mom says. “Channing’s moved on, so why can’t you?”

“I’m not—it’s not because I’m hung up on Channing,” Kevin says impatiently. They’ve had this discussion before. He and Channing broke up three years ago because she wanted to go to college out-of-state, and they didn’t feel that the relationship would last if it went long-distance. He’s been over her for years, but his mom _still_ thinks it’s because of Channing that he hasn’t dated anyone else.

“You say that, but… how am I supposed to believe you?”

“Believe me because I’m your _son_ ,” Kevin blurts out, tone harsh.

Mom goes quiet, eyes dropping to the surface of the table, and Kevin finds himself looking down at his hands, resting on either side of two bowls, Mom’s and his own.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, quietly, getting to his feet. He finishes stacking up the dishes, places the two bowls on top, and collects their chopsticks before heading over to the sink.

When the dishes are washed and dried, he goes back to the table to grab his jacket. He puts a hand on his mother’s shoulder as he passes, squeezing lightly, before shrugging into his jacket and heading toward the front door.

“Kevin,” Mom says before he can get there, and he turns around to see her coming toward him. “I believe you, all right?” she says as she reaches him, one hand coming up to card through his hair. “I believe you.”

Kevin manages a small smile. “Okay, then.”

“Just—don’t make me wait too much longer, all right?” she says, leaning up to kiss his forehead.

“Yeah,” Kevin says, smiling again. “Thanks for dinner, Mom.”

**LUST**

The chair really is fantastic, Sam thinks, eyes still closed. It’s extremely conducive to sleep—certainly more comfortable than the bed in Sam’s room, and he’s wondered on more than one occasion if he could get Kevin to find him another one of these chairs or something.

“I’m sure we’ve got a couple retired chairs here or there,” Kevin says, and shit, Sam hadn’t even realized he was speaking out loud. “Look, Sam, you’re avoiding the subject. What was your dream from last night about, and why did it upset you?”

“It wasn’t last night,” Sam points out.

“The night before last. Don’t nitpick,” Kevin says, calm. Sam clenches his jaw. “We have forty-five minutes left, Sam. We can spend it healing, or we can spend it talking at each other, like we are now.”

Sam licks his lips.

Maybe if Kevin knows what Sam dreamed of, what Sam _wants_ from him, subconscious or not… maybe he’ll finally agree that it’s a good idea for Sam to be transferred elsewhere, passed on to another doctor.

So Sam says, “You.”

“Me, what?” Kevin asks, but there’s a hint of excitement in his voice, something sharp and spicy in his scent, like he’s excited that Sam’s finally responding.

“My dream. It was—you were in it.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, tone oddly detached now.

Must be his training kicking in, Sam thinks. “I was uh, I mean, I’d relapsed. From the way I was feeling in the dream, I was… definitely high. And you uh, you were…” he stops, unsure whether or not he should continue.

Fuck, he knows it’d be for the best if Kevin passed him off on someone else, but Sam wants to be selfish, wants to keep having these one-on-one sessions, if only because Kevin’s scent is stronger in this room, even if it’s only _just_ —the kid is careful to keep this place clean, as neutral as possible, but the sheer amount of time he spends in this room makes his scent linger, makes it ineradicable from the air, the walls, the furniture, even.

“What was I doing, Sam?”

“You weren’t uh, it wasn’t you. It was me. I was… I had a syringe, and I was sticking it into your arm,” Sam finally manages. He can’t see Kevin because his chair is turned away from Kevin’s, and it’d be really obvious if he craned his head to look, but he imagines the doctor is probably stunned.

Instead, Kevin asks, “What happened next?”

“Next?” Sam says, surprised, because Kevin was supposed to be done with him at this point. “Next, you started dying—like from an overdose—and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“But you tried to stop it.”

“I couldn’t even try,” Sam says. “I just… held you.”

“Have you had this dream before?” Kevin asks after a moment.

Sure, but it’s never been so vivid, never ended with Kevin _dying_. “Yes,” he decides, because Kevin _needs_ to send him away, so Sam needs to answer in a way that’ll make it happen.

“All right,” Kevin says, and the only discernible emotion in his voice is concern. “Have you shot up anyone else? Or was it only me?”

“It’s you. Always you,” Sam says, because that hasn’t changed.

There’s a long pause after that, and Sam waits for Kevin to tell him to leave, waits for him to say things about reassignment, maybe.

“Why me?” Kevin asks, voice slightly higher, betraying his young age, and fuck, some part of Sam wants to grab Kevin, pin him up against a wall or a desk or even this chair, and fucking _ruin_ him. It’s so messed up. _Sam_ is so messed up.

“I don’t know,” Sam lies.

“Is it perhaps because I’m treating you, or—”

“I don’t know,” Sam repeats, but then he shakes his head, because right—he needs to do the right thing, needs to be transferred away. “I think—I think I might be attached to you. Specifically. Beyond the uh, the parameters of a doctor-patient setting.” His face is burning with shame when he’s finished speaking, and he’s thankful that Kevin can’t see his face, even if he can probably scent Sam’s emotions anyway.

“And how does that make you feel?” Kevin asks, voice steady, like he’s deliberately trying to prove that he’s strong enough to deal with this, but _god_ , how can he possibly still want a mess like Sam on his hands? How the hell has he not terminated this session already?

“Terrified,” Sam admits.

There’s a long pause, and then he hears Kevin get to his feet. This is it, now. Kevin’s going to ask him to leave the room, and there’s gonna be some paperwork for Dean to sign, and after that Sam’s never gonna see him again.

Sam’s startled when a hand—Kevin’s hand—lands on his shoulder, and he looks up to see the doctor looking back down at him, something indefinable in his wide, brown eyes.

“You don’t have to be,” Kevin says.

“What?” Sam says reflexively.

“Terrified,” Kevin reminds him, repeating his word back to him. “You don’t have to be terrified. You’re not the first person who’s had to deal with this, and you’re not alone.”

“You’re not passing me on to someone else,” Sam says, frowning.

“Of course not,” Kevin says with a small smile. “Did you expect me to?”

“I—sort of, yeah,” Sam admits.

“It was just a dream,” Kevin says. “Dreams are… important, but they’re not everything. Thank you for sharing this dream with me.”

It sounds like he’s just been dismissed, so Sam says, “Don’t we still have at least half an hour left?”

“If there’s anything else you want to tell me right now, you’re welcome to. But if not, I think we’ve done enough for today.”

Sam considers the rest of the dream—he’d left out the fact that Kevin had turned into Ruby because he hates talking about her, and god, he hadn’t even said that Kevin was _in his lap_. Maybe _that_ would make him want to wash his hands of Sam’s issues.

“I’ve got nothing,” Sam says, because he defeated his selfishness once—he doesn’t have the strength to do it again.

“Okay, then,” Kevin says. “Thank you, Sam.”

As soon as Sam is out of the room, the guilt starts to sink in. He’d tried to do the right thing, get himself sent farther away from Kevin, from that innocent face with its open smiles and guileless eyes, but shit, he’s never been able to shake that selfish streak. It’s what got him into this mess in the first place—it’s what got Dean into selling himself to make money, fuck.

Sam breaks everything and everyone he touches, and if he can’t keep himself in check, Kevin’s gonna be his next victim. Clenching his jaw, he resolves not to let that happen.

**LUST**

For their first real date, they go with Castiel’s suggestion of dinner and a movie. Castiel has late meetings scheduled on Monday and Tuesday, so they set their date tentatively on Wednesday night. Dean lets Castiel choose what to eat on the condition that Dean gets to choose the movie, so they end up at a small diner that Castiel favors for its delicious burgers. Dean seems surprised by Castiel’s choice, but he smiles a lot, which Castiel takes as a sign of approval.

After dinner, they drive to the theater, and Dean selects a movie that Castiel has never heard of—frankly, he is unfamiliar with all of the movies listed on the board, and he tells Dean so as they take their seats in the dimly lit theater.

“What, you’ve never seen trailers for _any_ of those movies?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Castiel admits. “I cannot remember the last time I went to an actual movie theater, either.”

“God, it’s like you’ve been living under a rock.”

“My office, actually. But I suppose it’s close enough,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs.

Castiel likes Dean’s laugh very much, he’s decided. Even when Dean is laughing at Castiel, it still feels as though he’s laughing _with_ Castiel, which is not something that Castiel encounters often. He’s laughed a lot more tonight than he did at the ball, but that much is to be expected—it’s obvious that Dean has lived his life as part of the middle class, the fabled “normal” class of people that Castiel had so wanted to belong to as a child.

He supposes it only makes sense that he would be attracted to someone from that demographic. Especially someone as adaptable and charming as Dean Winchester.

Castiel has been on numerous dates in the recent past, courtesy of Balthazar’s worry, and he has rejected alphas for their behavior, their scent, their lack of propriety, all manner of reasons. He hopes that he is not being too quick in his judgment of Dean, but it appears he has no flaws at all in these areas.

Dean is funny, has a winning smile and a truly attractive physical appearance overall.

Dean is slightly uncomfortable in upper-class settings but still confident enough in his own skin to get through a ball without incident—Castiel spent almost the entire evening with him, and he was every bit the perfect gentleman at all times.

Dean is conscientious and attentive to detail, something that Castiel tested by giving Dean two conflicting details about himself during the meal. Dean had not only caught on, but also hadn’t hesitated to call him out, forcing him to own up to having given that information as a sort of test.

Dean is also kind and forgiving, because he hadn’t been angry with Castiel for testing him. Instead, he’d said that he understood, given Castiel’s large fortune and no-doubt large pool of suitors.

Dean would make an excellent mate for anyone, and Castiel can’t believe his good fortune in having met such a gem of a man.

The only problem now is that Castiel will be turning thirty in just over three weeks, and if he is not mated by then, he will lose all rights to the Sacre Corporation. He honestly wouldn’t mind if it were only his own livelihood on the line, but he feels obligated toward his brother and sister as well as his cousins, because they were right—policies _would_ change, were Castiel to lose ownership of the company.

“Cas, you listening?”

Castiel resurfaces from his thoughts and says, “Shit—sorry, I wasn’t.”

“That’s fine,” Dean says, chuckling. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” Castiel says, because there’s no point in trying to come up with a lie. He’ll probably be asking Dean to mate him within the week, so he may as well get used to being honest with Dean now.

“Really?” Dean says with a grin. “What about me?”

Castiel licks his lips slowly, deliberately, and observes the way Dean’s eyes follow the motion of his tongue. Leaning in closer, he answers, “Just a few of your better qualities.”

“Such as?” Dean prompts.

“Your eyes and your smile,” Castiel answers without hesitation. “And your freckles. Your nose. Your jaw.”

“Mm, well it’s nice to know you like my face,” Dean says, and he’s leaning forward too, closing the distance between them.

Castiel hardly has enough time to shut his eyes before Dean’s lips press against his, slow and sensual. This close to him, Castiel feels like he can scent every emotion that Dean’s experiencing—confidence, excitement, slight trepidation, and the first stirrings of arousal. Castiel twists in his seat, hands reaching out blindly and landing on Dean’s chest and shoulder. His hands trail up and in until they’re clutching at the collar of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in closer.

Dean’s tongue swipes across the seam of his lips, and it feels natural to open up, let him inside. Dean’s arms circle Castiel, pulling, and Castiel is about two seconds from crawling right into Dean’s lap when someone in the row behind them clears his throat pointedly.

Castiel pulls back, grateful that his blush probably isn’t visible in the low lighting, and licks his lips, chasing Dean’s taste. Dean’s scent has gone darker, heavier, and Castiel wants to surround himself with it, wants to draw it in until it becomes a part of himself.

“How interested are you in watching this movie?” Dean asks, and Castiel just shakes his head because he doesn’t think he can trust his voice to be steady right now. “Let’s get outta here, then.”

Castiel can only nod in response, and it’s impossible, unthinkable, for him to resist when Dean tugs him out of his chair and leads the way out of the theater. Castiel wonders for a brief moment whether or not they can get a refund for their tickets but quickly decides that it doesn’t matter. Getting into Dean’s car is much more important because the sooner they’re in the car, the sooner they’ll be able to get to his house and his overly large bed.

“Your place or mine?” Dean asks as they’re slowing to a stop at a red light.

“Mine,” Castiel thankfully has the presence of mind to reply, and Dean steps on the gas.

They reach his home in less than twenty minutes, and Castiel bolts over to the front door because he needs to ensure that there is a safe distance between himself and Dean before they reach the bedroom. If not, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to control himself—it really has been a long time since he’s been intimate with anyone.

But Dean’s faster than he expected—of course he’d be, as he’s an alpha—so he catches up before Castiel has even pushed the door open. His hands cover Castiel’s hipbones, his front molding to Castiel’s back, and in a moment of scent-drunk insanity, Castiel imagines what it would be like if Dean yanked the door closed completely, tossed the keys aside, and claimed Castiel right here, right out in the open, where any of his neighbors could see.

“Dean—Dean, wait,” he manages, getting the door open.

Dean growls into the side of his neck, but there’s something playful in it, in his scent, in the smile that Castiel can feel against his skin.

“ _God_ , you smell amazing,” Dean murmurs, lips never leaving the back of Castiel’s neck, and a shudder runs all the way from Castiel’s head to his toes when Dean’s tongue slips out for a taste.

Castiel pushes his weight against the door, and they stumble over the threshold, Dean kicking the door closed when they’re both inside. Castiel wants to start down the hall, but he’s immediately pressed up against the nearest wall, and oh— _oh_ , Dean is licking his ear, grinding his hips against Castiel’s ass, and that, that is a sizable hard-on Castiel feels, through two layers of denim.

Fuck, he wants it inside him.

“Your room,” Dean breathes into his ear. “Where’s your room?”

“Couch—there’s a couch in the next room. On the right,” Castiel manages, pushing away from the wall just enough to spin around and claim Dean’s lips, threading his hands into Dean’s soft hair.

It’s perfect, and Castiel doesn’t want to go anywhere.

He hitches a leg up around Dean’s waist and is pleased when Dean presses in close, sliding a hand down to hold it there. Castiel is moments away from lifting his other leg when Dean pulls back a little, breathing hard.

“Cas, shit.”

Castiel’s eyes flick open, and he sees that Dean isn’t looking at him.

Why isn’t Dean looking at him? Has he read the situation incorrectly?

No, that’s impossible. Castiel wants this. _Dean_ wants this. What’s wrong?

“Why are you stopping?” Castiel demands.

“This is our first time, Cas. It’s not gonna be up against a wall,” Dean says, and oh, sweet relief. “C’mon, where’s your room?”

Castiel shakes his head, enticing Dean with slow, sweet kisses, pulling back before they can get deep, taunting the alpha into following, teasing him until he’s right up against Castiel again, until Castiel is pinned right where he wants to be.

They don’t even have their clothes off, and Castiel thinks he might implode with want.

“Fuck,” Dean spits, rolling their hips together when Castiel jumps a little to wrap both legs around his waist. “Oh, fuck, you really wanna do it here.”

“Mm,” Castiel purrs, tilting his head to the side to get at the strong line of Dean’s jaw, lightly stubbled and clenched tight—with restraint?

Of course. Castiel is too accustomed to his own scent to notice how strong it must be now, the way it must be beckoning. He wants to dip into Dean, find his restraints, and test them, play with them, remove them so that Dean can be free.

“Well, too bad,” Dean huffs, pulling away from the wall with a grunt, and Castiel yelps, legs tightening around Dean’s hips and arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. Dean, of course, is supporting him already, one arm tight around his shoulder blades, the other at his lower back. “We’re doing things my way,” he says, nosing at Castiel’s cheek as he takes them into the downstairs lounge—this is where Castiel usually entertains guests because it’s the first room with ample comfortable seating.

Dean presses him down onto the wide, plush sofa, and Castiel thinks that this might have been a bad idea after all—if he gets his slick all over this sofa, no one will be able to sit here anymore.

But before he can voice his concern, Dean licks a long stripe up his neck, and his furniture doesn’t seem quite so important in comparison. Dean’s tongue travels lower, and his fingers are working at Castiel’s button-down now, and to hell with the couch—Castiel disapproves of wasting money simply on principle, but how can he be expected to be sensible with that clever tongue working its way down his chest?

“Dean—oh. _Dean_ ,” he gasps when Dean tongues his nipple, sending heat straight to his groin.

The seat of Castiel’s jeans must be soaked through by now, and he squirms, but Dean, sensing his discomfort—or hell, probably _scenting_ his discomfort—reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, lowers the zipper. Castiel hisses in relief when Dean tugs his jeans down, and he helps a little by first kicking his shoes off and then shimmying out of his pants, cursing himself for choosing the skinnier pair when they get bunched up around his ankles.

But then they’re off, and Dean presses back down against him, the denim of his jeans coarse against Castiel’s inner thighs.

Castiel is about to request that Dean lose some clothing of his own when a hand pulls his briefs down, slipping a little in the slick that’s leaking from Castiel’s hole. A gasp escapes Castiel’s lips, unbidden, and he shifts his hips, trying to direct Dean’s fingers toward their destination.

“Dean, please—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I gotcha,” Dean says, voice hoarse. Castiel opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—and is treated to a gloriously flushed Dean, hair mussed and eyes dark, something predatory in the curve of his smile.

Then one of Dean’s fingers presses up and in, and Castiel moans because it’s good, so good. He hasn’t had anything inside him for so long, and he doesn’t think he even realized how much he needed it—needed this, needed _Dean_. Alpha.

Castiel clutches at the jacket still hanging down from Dean’s torso and pushes at it, because he needs closeness, needs as much as he can get, needs to run his hand over Dean’s skin and feel that he’s burning up for it too, because this, this is too much for one person to experience alone.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, tugging his hands away and sitting back on his haunches, and Castiel groans in protest, because what the fuck does Dean think he’s doing?

But oh, he’s practically ripping his shirt and jacket off, and Castiel sits up, fumbling with Dean’s belt buckle because he supports this course of action. Dean gets up off the couch to remove his pants and kick his shoes off and nearly falls over in his haste. Castiel has never been so aroused in his life, yet he ends up _giggling_ , of all things, and finds Dean laughing along with him, cheeks red.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean grumbles, crawling back over Castiel and kissing him quiet.

Ordinarily, Castiel would never allow himself to be silenced so easily, but Dean’s kisses are venomous, addictive, and Castiel thinks that this is something he would like to do every day, maybe for the rest of his life. The thought would be scary, but he’s had mating on his mind for a long time, and Dean is the first person, alpha, beta, or omega, who has ever sparked that sort of permanence in Castiel’s mind.

The intensity of his emotions seems likely to drown him, and Castiel tries to keep himself afloat, drinking in Dean’s kisses and pulling him closer, _closer_ , because he can’t get close _enough_. He runs his hands up and down Dean’s back, and there are slight imperfections, a scar here and there, but for the most part his skin is smooth, warm, and Castiel doesn’t ever want to let him go.

Dean’s fingers slide back to Castiel’s hole, but when only one finger presses in, Castiel nips Dean’s lower lip in protest, clenching around the digit.

“Dean, you can do more,” he says.

Dean only huffs a soft laugh and kisses Castiel again, coaxing his tongue out to play, but Castiel won’t be sidetracked. He needs Dean, and if Dean needs a little convincing, then that is what Castiel will do.

So he rocks his hips gently against the motion of Dean’s finger inside him and trails his hands up and down Dean’s back, circling lower and lower until one hand is resting on the small of Dean’s back. He pulls the other around and gets it between them, reaching down and grasping Dean’s cock, hard and hot between his legs.

Dean stiffens at the contact, a hint of surprise hitting the air between them, and Castiel inhales deeply, committing it to memory.

There’s something compelling about Dean’s scent, something that feels old as time, and Castiel is quickly learning that when he’s aroused like this, that scent only grows stronger.

Castiel strokes Dean quickly, spreading the precome that’s leaking liberally from the tip of him, and Dean breaks the kiss to let out a low moan, dragging his finger out of Castiel to grasp his wrist.

“Shit—stop. You wanna end this party before it’s even started?”

“Stop beating around the bush and fuck me, then,” Castiel says huffily.

Dean grins, cocksure, but the heat in his eyes gives him away, and Castiel lets his head drop back, waits for Dean to come to him. He immediately takes the cue, leaning down and pressing his lips to Castiel’s. He releases Castiel’s wrist and goes back to opening him up— _stubborn_ , apparently, despite the fact that Castiel is far beyond ready—but before Castiel can protest, three fingers are pressing into him, and oh, _oh_ , that is—still not enough, but so much better than before.

Castiel pushes back, eager for more, and yelps when the motion gets Dean’s fingers in _just_ the right position. Dean smiles and curls his fingers on the next inward stroke, and Castiel yips, unable to help it.

“Dean— _Dean_ , come on,” he groans, hips rocking restlessly.

“Just a little more,” Dean replies, pumping his fingers.

Castiel grits his teeth and throws his head back, baring his neck, and Dean takes it for the invitation it is, lips and tongue trailing up and down the exposed skin. He nips lightly near the base of Castiel’s neck, and god, _god_ , Castiel wants him to bite down, wants it so badly he thinks he might cry with it.

But Dean only works the skin for a moment before pulling back, kissing along Castiel’s left collarbone and then his right, all the while continuing to push his fingers in and out.

“Fuck me,” Castiel urges, threading his fingers into Dean’s hair to tug him up for a quick kiss.

Dean’s eyes are searching when he pulls back, like he needs reassurance that Castiel wants this, so Castiel reaches for his dick again, heavy and practically _throbbing_ under his touch. Dean lets out a growl, low and throaty, and finally withdraws his fingers, swatting Castiel’s hand out of the way and lining himself up.

“Cas,” he starts, something uncertain in his voice.

But Castiel has had enough waiting tonight, so he just pushes back, pushes until the thick, blunt head pressed against his entrance slips _just_ inside, and whatever words were on the tip of Dean’s tongue are lost on a moan. Dean shoves the rest of the way in, and Castiel gasps with relief, because yes, _yes_ , he’s finally full, so full, yes-good- _perfect_ full, and there’s simply no excuse good enough for this to not be his permanent state.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, eyes squeezed shut, entire body held taut and still above Castiel’s. “Fuck, Cas, you’re tight. You—you good?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes, “Yes, Dean, move. Please, move.”

Dean holds still, though, and he shifts most of his weight onto his left forearm, his right hand coming up to brush Castiel’s cheek, so gently that Castiel aches with it. “You,” Dean gets out, somehow managing to convey wonder despite the strained undercurrent in his voice. “Cas.”

Castiel wants to duck his head, to shy away from such an open display, but Dean catches his chin, tilts his head back up, and leans down, nice and slow, pausing so, so close to Castiel’s lips, and it’s _killing_ him, the fact that Dean is filling him so perfectly but not _moving_ , the fact that Dean is on the verge of kissing him but not—all Castiel wants is to leap from the precipice, to close the distance between them.

So he arches his neck, lifts his chin just a little, and presses their lips together, tender and soft, because Dean has been slow and hesitant ever since they entered the house, and perhaps what he needs is confirmation that Castiel is… on the same page as he is.

Dean moans a little as the kiss deepens, and he finally, _finally_ , starts to roll his hips, only drawing back a little each time. Castiel runs his hands up and then down Dean’s sides, settling them on Dean’s lower back so that he can feel the subtle stretch and flex of muscle with each thrust.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers into his lips, “Dean, alpha, please.”

“Anything, Cas,” Dean says back, breathless, radiating a sort of warmth that Castiel hasn’t felt since—no, that he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ felt.

“I need—harder. Faster,” Castiel says, grinding up in tandem with Dean’s motions, clenching down around him to motivate him, or tempt him, maybe. Whatever works.

Dean grunts, eyes squeezed shut, and holds still for a long, agonizing moment. But then his eyes flutter open again, and when they do, there’s something hungry in his gaze, something incendiary. All Castiel wants is to feed that flame, to fan it until it consumes him whole.

Dean pulls out almost all the way in a steady, slow movement, and then plunges back in, hard and deep and forceful, punching a moan out of Castiel’s lips. He doesn’t stop at that, immediately drawing back and driving forward again, again, _again_ , and it’s impossible for Dean to already know exactly where to direct his thrusts, yet he manages to catch Castiel’s prostate unerringly.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel gasps, lifting his legs to wrap them around Dean’s waist and give himself some more leverage to move back against him. “Dean—Dean, yes—so good—”

Castiel interrupts himself with a startled moan at a particularly hard thrust, but then Dean is slipping out, pulling away, and Castiel is about to panic when he realizes that Dean has only gotten onto his knees, isn’t going anywhere. Dean grabs onto Castiel’s hips and yanks him closer, lines them up and just presses Castiel down onto his cock, sheathing himself all at once.

“Dean!” Castiel yelps, nearly screaming with it, and Dean just snarls, lifts Castiel up and shoves him back down as though he weighs nothing, which—alpha, yes, _please, alpha, more, more, Dean, alpha_ —

But just as Castiel is about to crest, Dean pulls him down and holds him still, and Castiel opens his mouth, ready to beg, desperate and needy and shameless about it. Dean tugs him up until he’s upright, straddling Dean’s lap, and Castiel takes the opportunity to maul Dean’s mouth, grinding down onto the blissfully thick length inside him because he’s close, so _close_.

Castiel turns his head slightly to the side, kisses his way along the strong arch of Dean’s cheekbone to his ear, enjoying the way Dean has started moving under him, a slow, sensuous, dirty grind, filthy with slick because Castiel is just leaking everywhere—he may have to throw this couch out entirely, because it’s undoubtedly been ruined by now.

“Knot me,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s ear, because yes, _yes_ , that would be perfect. That would be the best. He wants Dean locked up inside him forever, always, but as that is biologically impossible, he’ll take what he can get.

“Fuck,” Dean groans. “Fuck, do you have—”

“On suppressants,” Castiel answers, shifting to get his legs under him because if Dean won’t move, Castiel is perfectly willing to ride him.

But Dean doesn’t let Castiel get that far, turns them on the couch so that he can plant his feet on the floor, and Castiel gets maybe two seconds to reorient himself in the new direction before Dean’s driving up into him, hands directing the motion of Castiel’s hips so that his sweet spot is jarred with each thrust. Castiel cries out at the sensation, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and nosing at his cheekbone.

He feels like he can’t breathe, like he doesn’t care that he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t want to breathe, doesn’t _need_ to breathe when Dean is pressing deep inside him, carving out a space for himself, immutable and inevitable.

“Knot,” Castiel insists, grinding down onto Dean’s cock, and he is pleased when Dean allows it, when Dean’s grip loosens a little on his hips so that he can move at will. “Knot, alpha, _now_.”

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” Dean grunts, voice wrecked, fingers digging into Castiel’s hips, and yes, oh, _yes_ , Castiel can feel the swell of Dean’s knot starting to catch at his rim each time he lifts up.

Dean’s movements get jerkier, more violent, and he moans in unison with Castiel every time his knot catches but only _just_ slips free, until finally Castiel shoves himself down into Dean’s lap and can’t lift up again.

“ _Ah!_ ” he gasps, struggling against the knot to really _feel_ the point where they’re bound together. The motion draws a broken moan from Dean, and his hips jolt upward into Castiel as he comes. It’s perfect, _beyond_ perfect, and Castiel swivels his hips, working himself on Dean’s knot because whenever he gets the angle right, sparks go off behind his eyes.

Dean seems to start coming down a little, his hands holding on a little tighter to Castiel’s hips, but he seems a little startled when he looks down and sees that Castiel is still hard, that he hasn’t come yet.

“Shit, Cas—” he starts, but Castiel swats his hand away when Dean tries to touch him, because that isn’t what he wants. Castiel squeezes down, rocks back and forth on the delightfully thick knot that’s filling him up, and Dean grunts with his ministrations, limited as his range of motion is.

“Oh— _oh_ , Dean,” Castiel whispers as he gets closer, fingers tightening where he’s clutching at Dean’s shoulders, and Dean kisses his nose, his cheeks, his lips, soft and innocent and completely out-of-place with the way he’s tied off inside Castiel, nice and tight.

“Let go for me, Cas,” Dean pants as Castiel starts moving faster, more desperate, chasing the relief that’s only _just_ out of reach. “C’mon, baby, come for me.”

Castiel seizes up, crying out as he comes, pleasure rocketing through him, and all he can think is Dean, Dean, yes— _Dean_.

He slumps forward, crushing Dean to the back of the couch, and just tries to catch his breath, regain full control over his faculties. Dean’s breathing is evening out as well, but he says nothing, and they lie together for what feels like ages, propped up against the back of the couch, in exhausted, sated, comfortable silence.

Dean runs his fingers up and down the length of Castiel’s back, tracing the bumps of his spinal column, and Castiel hums, pleased. He thinks he should bring up mating, needs to explain his situation to Dean, but he puts it off, reasoning that he should at least wait until they’ve separated, so that it won’t be too awkward if Dean—if Dean rejects his request.

Castiel stiffens at the possibility, and Dean seems to sense his discomfort, fingers pausing at the small of his back and moving in small circles there.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “I mean—was this—”

“Yes, Dean. This—you were perfect. _Are_ perfect,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words, and it’s—disorienting. He can’t remember the last time he was so off-balance that he couldn’t articulate himself gracefully.

Dean laughs a little and responds, “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

They remain silent for a while longer, and then Castiel starts lifting himself up, hissing when Dean’s softening knot slips out of him, immediately followed by a rush of come.

“Shit, your couch,” Dean says, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel smiles and replies, “I’m not,” before tilting his head down to kiss Dean’s lips.

“Mm, good,” Dean purrs as Castiel pulls back.

“Dean, I… have something important to discuss with you,” Castiel says abruptly, because he has never been one for beating around the bush, and Dean seems to be a straightforward person, anyway.

“All right,” Dean says, and when Castiel looks him in the eye, he sees interest and perhaps slight concern.

“I like you very much,” Castiel says to start off. “I’ve never felt so strongly about another person as quickly as I have with you, and while it is a little… daunting, and unexpected, it also happens to be exactly what I need right now.”

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

“Dean, I’m sure you’re well aware of my position as the head of the Sacre Corporation,” Castiel says, and Dean just nods. “Well, there’s a little-known clause in inheritance law that declares an omega’s inheritance null and void if said omega isn’t mated by the time their thirtieth birthday rolls around.”

“What, really?” Dean says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought they’d done away with all the—”

“Only _most_ prejudiced things were repealed in the last cases,” Castiel says. “Something as small as this was… overlooked. Besides, hardly any omegas are unmated at the age of thirty. I doubt the legislators thought it was a concern.”

Castiel ordinarily doesn’t care for the norms dictating that he should have been mated long ago, maybe even more than a decade ago, but now, straddling a beautiful alpha’s lap, Castiel can’t help but think that he isn’t a “proper” omega. It goes against all of his usual beliefs, and he squashes the thought vehemently.

“Regardless,” he pushes on, “it is a concern for me. My thirtieth birthday is rapidly approaching, and I have yet to find a mate.”

Dean stares at him. Blinks. Stares some more. “Wait—Cas, are you—are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“It’s all right if you don’t want to,” Castiel says quickly. “And I’d like to assure you that I—that my inheritance is not my reason for wanting to mate with you. I swear, it only sped up my decision. If I were not taken with you, I wouldn’t be asking at all.”

Dean nods, says, “So, just to be clear. You… actually want to mate me.”

“Yes,” Castiel says without hesitation.

He certainly has never felt so safe, so connected, so _whole_ , with any other human being before. If Castiel were quicker to judge, he might even say that he loves Dean already, despite their small number interactions. It is difficult to imagine anyone else evoking sensations even close to the ones Dean woke in him, and though they don’t know each other well at present, familiarity can be built over time.

Before Dean can speak up, a cell phone rings.

It is a ringtone unfamiliar to Castiel, and sure enough, Dean grimaces and says, “I uh, can I get that?”

Castiel nods and slides off Dean’s lap, letting him scoot forward on the couch to grab his jeans from the floor. He feels uneasy, unsure of Dean’s reaction, and he wishes Dean could just _answer_ him.

Dean answers the phone with a brisk, “Yep.” Whatever is said on the other end must be important, because Dean’s expression shifts, and his entire body tenses up a little, his scent going bitter. “Shit, I’ll be right there,” he says, and hangs up the call. He gets to his feet immediately, movements hurried as he starts pulling his clothing back on.

“Dean—”

“Cas, shit, I’m sorry,” Dean interrupts. “It’s uh, it’s an emergency, and I’ve just—I’ve gotta go.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says.

Dean buckles his belt and then tugs his shirt over his head, but he pauses, stepping over to the couch to tip Castiel’s chin up, kissing him quickly. “Cas, I’m not—I promise this isn’t—I mean, we can—we can finish this later, right? That is, if you still—”

“It’s all right,” Castiel repeats. “Go, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, grateful. “Sorry,” he says once more as he steps into his shoes, socks forgotten, and grabs his jacket from the floor.

Dean retreats from the room hastily, and Castiel is left sitting on his couch, trying his best not to feel brushed-off, stung.

The panic on Dean’s face had been very real, though, so Castiel does his best to wall his emotions away; he’s had years of practice keeping the baser parts of him in line, yet this time it’s difficult to silence the part of him that yearns for his alpha.

It’ll be all right. Castiel has already said his piece, and all that remains is for Dean to make a decision. For better or for worse, it is out of Castiel’s hands, now.

**LUST**

Sam sits down in the private visitor’s room, waiting expectantly for Dean to show up. It’s strange for him to be coming on a Wednesday evening, especially given that he dropped in barely a week ago. Dean works nights, anyway—it makes no sense for him to be coming on a night when he could be working.

The thought that Dean—that he fucking _sells himself_ and that it’s all Sam’s fault—is never going to be okay, and Sam grits his teeth, because he doesn’t want to fight with Dean tonight, and if he goes into this with ideas of changing Dean’s mind, well. They’ve had that argument before, over and over, and Sam already knows how it’ll end—with Dean storming out in a huff and not coming back for at least two weeks.

Sam has just talked himself down when the door swings open, which is perfect timing, really, except—

The scent that drifts into the room is familiar, but it’s not Dean’s. Sam will never forget that scent, just as he’ll never forget the woman who steps into the room, looking every bit like she did when he last saw her two years ago.

_Ruby_.

She doesn’t say a word, just stands in the doorway and smiles at him, and Sam stares, trying to convince himself that she’s just an apparition. Shit, how’d she even find him? What the fuck is she _doing_ here?

Is this a nightmare?

The memories come back with a vengeance, and _not_ the good ones, but the ones that involve him rolling around on a cot in a hospital, caught somewhere between dreams and reality. The ones where he swims in and out of consciousness while Dean makes phone calls, and then disappears for hours at a time trying to find a place that’s safe and affordable for Sam to stay.

A heavy weight crushes down on Sam, wraps around his throat, and the world ripples around him, distorted and red.

He’s on his feet before he knows it, edging around the table to lunge at Ruby, but two guards are suddenly there, stepping past her and into the room to stop him. Snarling, he shoves one of them at the wall and spins to clock the other right in the face. When he turns back around, Ruby isn’t in the doorway anymore, and someone else is in his way, saying something, but it’s not important—nothing is as important as _murdering_ the bitch that got him into all of this shit in the first place—so Sam just shoves at the obstruction, throws a punch, and goes for the door again.

A different scent registers with him, though, even as one of the guards recovers enough to grab onto his arm, and Sam shakes his head, feels the rage fading away.

More guards stream into the room, and Sam doesn’t even bother putting up a fight, horrified, because fuck, _fuck_ , that’s _Kevin_ standing just to the side, a small cut high up on his cheek, under what is surely gonna be a black eye.

Sam gets put down before he can even say sorry.

**LUST**

When Dean comes in through the front doors, Kevin beckons for him to come over, waving away his half-formed question about signing in—Kevin already had that taken care of while he was waiting.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Kevin says, leading Dean down the hall toward Sam’s room. “I haven’t seen him so worked up since he first came in.”

“Do you know what set him off?”

“I have a guess, but I’m not sure,” Kevin replies. He stops at Sam’s room and says, “Sam is sedated now, but other than that he’s fine. You can go on inside and take a look, just to see for yourself.”

Dean just leans over and looks inside the window for a moment before saying, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“He got a visitor,” Kevin says. “She said she was a classmate of his, from back when he was in school.”

“Fuck,” Dean says. “Can I see the security footage of what happened in the visiting room?”

Kevin’s stomach sinks a little, because it seems his suspicion might be right. He nods and takes Dean farther into the complex, making a couple turns before they reach the surveillance room. Kevin enters the access code into the keypad, and the lock clicks.

They enter the room, and the guard on duty swivels in his seat.

“Oh hey, Dr. Tran,” he says.

“Yeah, hi, Linus,” Kevin answers. “Can you pull up the security footage from earlier?”

“On it,” Linus replies, turning back to the monitors in front of him and typing away on the keyboard.

Kevin sneaks a glance at Dean, but turns out it’s safe to look, because Dean is just watching the monitors, waiting. Dean is… he smells _like_ Sam, yet somehow he smells fundamentally different, and Kevin can’t quite put his finger on it. Dean still pings as an alpha—strong, dependable, protective—and while Kevin can understand why he should be attractive to any omega, Dean just… doesn’t do much for him.

He appreciates Dean, of course, and he admires how loyal Dean is to his brother, but… well. Dean is Sam’s brother, and that’s basically the end of it. He isn’t attractive to Kevin because some part of Kevin has placed him firmly out of bounds, which is—worrying.

Why would he do that, unless—

“All right, here we go,” Linus says.

The words cut through Kevin’s thoughts, and he sees Dean’s features twist with rage as he spits, “Dammit!”

“What?” Kevin blurts out, head snapping to watch the feed. The woman from before is there, and yeah, looks like Dean knows her, all right.

“That’s Ruby,” Dean hisses. “How the fuck did Ruby even _get_ here?” he demands, rounding on Kevin. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Hey now,” Linus says, starting to get out of his chair.

“It’s fine,” Kevin says, waving at the guard to stand down. He’s handled angry family members before, but for some reason feeling the brunt of Dean’s anger is—different. More personal.

Of _course_ it’s more personal. Kevin takes _everything_ to do with Sam more personally.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin says to Dean, leading him out of the room so that they won’t have an audience—the halls tend to be pretty quiet in the evenings. “She told me that her name was Meg Masters, and I saw no reason not to believe her—I’ve always had a knack for sniffing out liars, but she fooled me. This was my fault, and I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure Sam can stay at our facility.”

“Kev—”

“I’m sure we can extend his stay by a month or two, after this episode, since our security screening was what caused it. I’ll talk to the board, and my boss, and—”

“ _Kevin_ ,” Dean says, more firmly this time, and Kevin stops talking.

God, Dean looks so _tired_. Have the wrinkles on his forehead always been so pronounced?

Dean rubs his eyes with one hand and huffs out a sigh. “It’s okay,” he finally says. “I mean—you couldn’t have expected Ruby to show up. This wasn’t on you. I should’ve at least shown you what she looked like, found a picture or something. I was just overreacting ‘cause I hate the damn bitch so much.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Kevin says, and Dean makes a sound that falls short of a laugh.

“Sam… he’s gotten a lot better, and I know it’s all down to you,” Dean says, softly, and Kevin feels a twist of guilt in his chest because he _does_ want Sam to get better, wants it with everything that he has, but this—this strange attraction between them can’t be helping matters, because it’s creating frustration that has no outlet.

That can be a dangerous thing for anyone, let alone a recovering addict.

“So I uh, I know I don’t say this half as much as I ought to, but thanks, Kev. Really.”

“It’s my job,” Kevin manages, forcing a smile onto his face.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Dean says, shaking his head. “You’ve gone above and beyond for Sammy; I know you have. I’m grateful, you understand me?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, solemnly this time. “Anyway, if you wanna stay overnight—”

“Nah, I know it’s against the rules,” Dean says. “You’ve bent enough rules for the two of us. Just—give me a call when he wakes up, so I know he’s all right.”

“You got it,” Kevin says, nodding.

Dean smiles and claps his shoulder, and then he turns and walks away. He heaves a sigh as he gets farther away, far enough that Kevin can’t actually hear it—he sees the rise and fall of Dean’s shoulders, though, and wonders at how much weight he’s carrying.

Then Dean disappears around the corner, and Kevin decides to go back to his office.

Well, he’ll probably swing by and check on Sam one last time, just in case.

**LUST**

Dean doesn’t get the call that Sam is awake and all right until just before noon the next day, and he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t getting anxious about it. But Kevin reassured him that Sam is lucid, and that he is aware of what happened, which is a good sign.

Dean figures he’ll go in and see him later this afternoon, since he’s got all this free time now—seriously, it’s Thursday, right around lunchtime, and he’s got no plans for the evening. It’s a novel feeling.

He was actually supposed to be having lunch with Bela and the guys today, since they’re hardly ever all free at the same mealtime, but last night Cas came out to him with something important, and it’s best to give Cas his answer as soon as possible, no matter how much he’s dreading it.

Fuck, he’s really gonna do this.

In the two years that he’s been working for Crowley, Dean has been on countless dates, slept with so many different people, but never has he struck as easy and natural a connection as the one he’s got with Cas. It makes it all harder, to be honest. Sure, it’s easy to talk to Cas, to “play his part,” but that’s exactly the problem. He keeps forgetting that he’s only playing a part, keeps forgetting that Cas _doesn’t know_ that he’s playing a part.

This isn’t a job, to Cas. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he never should’ve signed up for this.

But it’s too fucking late now, and Cas has already asked Dean to mate him. Fuck.

Dean finally gets out of his car in front of Cas’s place—he’d texted Cas asking about meeting up, and Cas had just told him to come by the house at noon. It’s a weekday, but Dean figures the owner of a multibillion dollar corporation can pick his own work days.

The door opens almost right after he knocks on it, and Cas is there, smiling. He’s hiding it well, but Dean can detect the slightest hint of nervousness in the way he holds himself, the tightness of his smile. Fuck, Dean should’ve called last night after he got home—shouldn’t have kept him waiting so long.

“Hey, Cas,” he says.

“Hello, Dean. Please, come in.”

Dean walks into the house, and Cas shuts the door behind him.

“I thought I’d try my hand at making lunch for you,” Cas says, walking past Dean and down the hall. Dean follows, not quite sure what to expect, and Cas goes on, “I’m not much of a cook, though, unfortunately. Balthazar is far more skilled in the kitchen than I am. Though I will say that I’m a sight better than Rachel.”

“Cas,” Dean says, catching Cas’s elbow before he can get away entirely.

Cas turns to face him, something apprehensive in his gaze, and Dean wants to shut it down. “Yes, Dean?”

“Look, let’s just get this outta the way, and then we can have lunch, all right?”

“All right,” Cas says with a quick nod, and Dean just knows that he’s bracing himself to be let down.

“Hey, relax,” Dean says, smiling a little, and god, he doesn’t even know what to say. Finally, he settles on, “It’s been a while, but I think my ring size is eleven.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and then the corners of Cas’s lips lift, just a little, in a tentative smile. “Dean, do you—”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and Cas’s smile stretches wide, exposing two rows of perfect, white teeth. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners, and Dean feels like the worst fucking person on the planet because none of this is for _real_.

Then Cas is stepping close to kiss Dean, and it’s nothing like what Dean expects—it’s hard, rough, wanting, and Dean guesses Cas needs to release the nerves that built up last night and this morning.

So he indulges Cas, carries him straight into the kitchen—apparently they’d stopped just outside of it—and lays him out across one of the large marble countertops. They don’t even get all the way out of their clothes this time, movements quick and frenzied, and the next thing Dean knows, he’s mated, bite nice and fresh at the base of Cas’s neck, just above his left collarbone.

“Dean,” Cas says breathlessly, “I think I might love you.”

There’s no way for those words _not_ to hurt, one part of Dean rocketing up into the sky with delight—because god yeah, Dean thinks he might be right there with Cas—while the other drops to rock bottom, reminds him that he should be in _hell_ for going through with this.

“God, Cas—” is all he gets out before Cas claps a hand over his mouth.

“I know it’s early,” Cas says, shifting a little, and Dean can’t help a groan because Cas feels so damn _good_ around his knot. “I just—thought you should know.” After a pause, he adds, “And it doesn’t matter what you think your ring size is—we’ll have your finger properly sized tonight.”

“Yeah?”

Cas nods. “And I—” he starts, but cuts himself off, eyes dropping and cheeks coloring a little.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to, but I… would like you to collar me.”

Dean’s eyes immediately flick down to the long expanse of Cas’s neck, and shit yeah, he wants that, wants to make sure that everyone who sees Cas knows that he’s taken. “I can do that,” he says, voice hoarse, and Cas grins.

Fuck, Dean doesn’t deserve Cas, doesn’t deserve this beautiful omega who feels like _home_ , like something way too good to call his own.


	4. City of Angels

_All my life, I was never there,_

_Just a ghost, running scared._

_Here our dreams aren't made—they're won._

* * *

When Sam comes to, he’s in the room that he’s been calling his own for the past two years, almost.

It takes him a minute to figure out why that’s weird—of course it’s weird. He went on a rampage and definitely hurt some people, hurt _Kevin_ , and it feels like he should be locked up somewhere.

Of course, he realizes then that his wrists and ankles have been cuffed to the bed beneath him, and yeah, okay, that makes a lot more sense.

Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

Fuck, Ruby. _Ruby_. Had she even really been there? Sam isn’t sure. Did she even say anything? Sam can’t remember past the blinding rage.

All he remembers is her smile, the same fucking smile that’s been haunting him when he goes to sleep.

She _couldn’t_ have just been a hallucination. Sam got through all those awful symptoms over a year ago, and even then they’d never—they’d always been triggered by something or other.

_How did she find him?_

Sam hears a lock click, and then the door to his room swings open. He looks over in time to see an orderly walking in, and she smiles when she sees him awake.

“Hey, Sam. Glad to see you up. I’ll go get Dr. Tran,” she says.

Sam only nods—he’s got nothing to say for himself. And even if he _did_ have something to say, it wouldn’t be for Nancy’s ears, anyway.

He scents it when Kevin enters the room—the man moves quietly, and Nancy left the door open, but it’s impossible for Sam _not_ to notice Kevin’s presence. Sam doesn’t even know when he became so attuned to the omega, doesn’t know when it all started.

“Sam,” Kevin says, voice gentle as ever, and Sam has to look at him.

There’s a bruise around his eye, dark and swollen, and the cut on his cheek has scabbed. There’s no bandage, and Sam wonders if that was intentional, so that Sam would see the damage he did.

No—Kevin’s far too kind for that. Sam knows that only too well.

“Everything’s been taken care of,” Kevin says, stepping closer to the bed, and Sam can’t help but flinch a little. Kevin stops where he is, as aware of Sam’s unconscious cues as he always is.

God, Sam _wants_ , wants him so badly.

“I’ve made sure that that woman will never be allowed in again,” Kevin goes on evenly. “I’m sorry that that happened. It was my mistake.”

“Don’t,” Sam manages, but he has to stop and clear his throat, because wow, his voice is hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I—god, Kevin, I’m so sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Kevin says. “Our screening process clearly isn’t rigorous enough.”

Seems like Ruby really was here, as Sam suspected. Fuck.

“Would you like to talk about what happened?” Kevin asks.

“I’m sorry,” is all Sam says in response, turning his face the other way and breathing through his mouth because Kevin smells like everything Sam has ever wanted, clean and fresh and beautiful—like dewdrops on rose petals, unassuming, subtly fragrant, perfect.

“I’ll let you rest, then,” Kevin says, and his hand rests on Sam’s upper arm.

Sam hadn’t even realized that Kevin had come so close, and he can’t help but tense up. He should have been aware of Kevin’s proximity, but he was too distracted, let his guard down.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re ready,” Kevin finishes, and his hand starts to lift away, slowly, fingers lingering for just a moment before pulling back entirely, and fuck, Sam has to tamp down the hope in his chest that Kevin might be attached to him too, that maybe Kevin’s in this just as much as Sam is.

By the time he turns his head back toward the door, Kevin is gone.

**LUST**

Castiel doesn’t actually take Dean up to his bedroom until the third time he comes over.

He still can hardly believe that Dean said yes, that Dean could want him back, enough to mate him so soon. He can only think that Dean must feel the same way that Castiel does, must feel the bond between them.

Now, Castiel sits down on the huge bed and crawls up to the pillows, reaching a hand out for Dean.

“Dude, Cas, not that I’m complaining, but if we’re gonna be mated, don’t you think we oughta do something other than fuck, now and then?”

Castiel laughs and wiggles his fingers, hand still extended toward Dean. “I only wanted to talk for a while,” he confesses. “I chose the bedroom because it’s comfortable.”

“Is that the only reason?” Dean says, raising an eyebrow as he gets onto the bed.

“We barely know each other,” Castiel says, brushing off Dean’s insinuation. He draws his legs in and crosses them, and Dean settles down across from him, mirroring his pose. “I’d like to know more—everything—about you.”

“There’s really not much to me, man,” Dean says, chuckling.

Castiel just smiles in response. “Regardless, I want to know you.”

“Okay, then. Where do you want me to start?”

“Well, I already know a little about your life at present. Tell me something about your childhood.” Dean hesitates at that, considering, and Castiel starts, “If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Dean says. “I was just… wondering where to begin. God.”

“And you say there isn’t much to you,” Castiel comments.

“Well, I kinda grew up on the road,” Dean starts. “We moved a lot ‘cause of my dad. It’s uh, a little complicated.”

“I can handle ‘complicated,’” Castiel says. When Dean doesn’t start talking immediately, Castiel asks, “Why were you on the move so often?”

“‘Cause of my dad,” Dean repeats. He takes a deep breath, as though to brace himself, and then says, “I was four years old when my mom died.”

The words are said almost without inflection, and Castiel wonders if that is because Dean is numbed to the pain, refusing to feel it, or if it is because he has truly overcome it. The former seems far more likely than the latter, though, because Castiel has lost his parents, and though it can fade with time, it is not a pain that goes easily.

“Some psycho… kidnapped her, tied her up in this shack out in the middle of nowhere, and set it on fire.”

Castiel’s mouth drops open slightly, and he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Dean responds. “Don’t be. I’m okay, now. These things… I mean, shit happens. Bad things happen to good people, and the world just keeps on turning.”

Castiel reaches out to cup Dean’s cheek, slides his hand forward to cradle the back of Dean’s head. “I’m sorry that you had to lose your mother in that way,” he says quietly.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cas,” Dean says, but he leans into Castiel’s touch anyway.

“You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.”

“Nah. You asked for ‘complicated,’ so I’m giving it to you,” Dean says with a wry smile. “Anyway, the cops were sure that they caught the right guy, but my dad was convinced that there was a pattern the cops missed, and when no one believed him, he became obsessed with hunting down the _real_ killer.”

“Was he right?” Castiel asks. “Did the police arrest the wrong man?”

“God, I don’t know anymore,” Dean replies. “He had me and Sam convinced for the longest time that he was right, but I just…” Dean sighs. “It’s impossible to know. But right or wrong, my dad found the guy he was looking for nine years ago and killed him.”

“That’s… startling.”

“Not for me and Sam, it wasn’t,” Dean says. “My dad spent the better part of our lives hunting the guy down, and there was never really any question whether he was gonna kill the guy or turn him over to the cops, since the cops thought they’d already put the right guy in jail.”

“Where is your father now, then?”

“In jail,” Dean says with what is probably intended to be a careless shrug. But it seems a little forced, tense, and Castiel leans forward, pulling Dean toward him so that he can press their foreheads together.

“I truly am sorry for all the trouble you’ve seen,” Castiel says.

Dean shrugs. “Eh well, all the shit I’ve been through got me to where I am today, so I don’t regret it.”

“I’m glad for that,” Castiel says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Dean seems calm at the moment, but a little bitterness seeps into his scent, and Castiel wants to kiss it away. So he tips his chin up slightly and kisses Dean’s lips, because he’s allowed to, whenever he wants to. Because this strong and beautiful and respectful alpha is his mate, now. Castiel feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Where is Sam, now?” Castiel asks. “How old were the two of you when your father was arrested?”

“I was twenty, so neither of us had to go into the system or anything, thank god,” Dean says, but he leaves Castiel’s first question unanswered.

So Castiel prods, “And Sam?”

“Sam’s fine,” Dean says, but there’s a slight tightness to his expression that says that Castiel shouldn’t pry any further. Castiel doesn’t like it, but he can respect Dean’s privacy and wait until he is ready to share.

“That’s good to hear,” Castiel says neutrally.

After a pause, Dean says, “It’s not too late, y’know, if you think I’m too much of a hot mess to have around.”

Castiel smiles. “You’ll have to try much harder than that if you really want to be rid of me.”

“Why would I ever wanna be rid of you? You’re probably one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” Dean says.

“That’s a lie,” Castiel says, but he only wants to smile harder. “You hardly even know me.”

“Yeah, but you feel it too, don’t you?” Dean says, soft.

“Yes,” Castiel answers. “It feels as though I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet you. And though I don’t know you, it feels like I already do—like I’ve always known you, but we’ve been apart for long enough that I need to relearn you.”

Dean hums in agreement, brushing the tip of his nose against Castiel’s, back and forth, and Castiel chuckles, leaning forward to catch Dean’s lips with his own again.

“So, you’ve heard my sob story. Now tell me a little something about your past,” Dean says.

“My life has been wholly uninteresting in contrast,” Castiel says, “though that is hardly something to complain about, given the hardships you’ve faced.”

“Ah, don’t start pitying me, Cas.”

“I’m not,” Castiel says, frowning. When Dean doesn’t respond, Castiel decides to just start with a brief summary. “I grew up in a large family, as you might have noticed. I was the youngest of seven, and four of those were siblings from another mother. My father married two omegas—the first for duty to the family, and the second for love. Balthazar, Rachel, and I were from our father’s second marriage, and I’m afraid to say he loved us more.”

“That’s… kinda shitty.”

“Yes, it is,” Castiel agrees. “He rarely spoke about it, but he told me once that it was because my half-brothers reminded him too much of his first wife, whom he hated. I never met her, though. She passed away before I was born.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Well uh, I know your dad isn’t around anymore, but is your mom…?”

“She passed away before my father. Cancer,” Castiel says. “I was twelve at the time.”

“Shit, that sucks.”

“It’s all right. I don’t feel it quite so keenly anymore,” Castiel says.

Dean just nods, but Castiel wonders whether or not he really understands—he doesn’t seem to have a healthy attitude toward his own mother’s death, after all.

Then Dean says, “So you were Daddy’s favorite, huh? Two betas and an omega from the love of his life, and he chooses the omega.”

Castiel shakes his head. “That was irrelevant. I inherited my mother’s eyes.”

Dean pulls back for a moment before nodding with approval. “Mm. They’re gorgeous eyes,” he decides.

“Thank you, Dean.” It’s silent for a moment, and then Castiel says, “I really do need to thank you.”

“Cas—”

“My father may be gone, but now that I have a mate, I can rest assured that the company is safe—that Rachel, Balthazar, and I will not be left with nothing, if our half-brothers prove to be as heartless as Balthazar likes to paint them. I have you to thank for that,” Castiel says.

“Don’t thank me, Cas. That—none of that had anything to do with us.”

Castiel smiles and reaches out, twines their fingers together. “You’re my guardian angel,” he says, and feels the way Dean shudders at the words.

“Cas, I’m not… you can’t put that on me,” Dean says, sounding pained.

“What’s the matter? Why is it so bad that I trust you?”

“You barely even know me.”

“I know enough,” Castiel says before releasing Dean’s hand. He shifts, leaning over to his right and pushing himself up onto a knee so that he can reach his bedside table. In the first drawer is a thin, long, rectangular box. After retrieving it, Castiel returns to his place on the bed, but this time he stays on his knees, sitting back on his heels.

Before he can think better of it, Castiel lifts the lid, sets it aside. He removes the collar from within and puts the box to the side as well. Looking Dean in the eye, he swallows his nervousness and presents the collar to his mate.

**LUST**

Dean stops breathing for a good ten seconds, breath caught in his throat, making it impossible to swallow, to move. Sure, he’d agreed to this, and maybe he’d thought about it a little, but he’d expected to be the one picking out the collar. Or maybe he’d thought that he and Cas would pick it out together, the same way they picked out the rings last night.

And he hadn’t thought that Cas would have a collar already, so soon.

He accepts the collar from Cas, and the leather is soft to the touch, fine. It’s a slim, black thing, with D.W. engraved on it in golden lettering, etched into the smooth surface.

Dean almost wants to call it quits.

But Cas lowers his head then, and Dean shifts onto his knees, because he has to put the collar on, now. He made Cas a promise, obvious in the dark red bruise still marking the base of Cas’s neck, and shit, this was the worst possible thing Dean could have chosen to do. Why did he ever sign up for this?

When the collar is clasped into place, Cas lifts his head and smiles radiantly up at Dean before leaning up to kiss him, and Dean’s throat is so thick with guilt that he thinks he might choke and die on it.

It’d be what he deserves, anyway.

Dean pulls back, but only to maneuver until he and Cas are horizontal, Cas lying flat underneath him. As if sensing Dean’s intentions, Cas lifts his hands and reaches for the buttons of Dean’s shirt. But Dean braces his weight on one hand and grasps Cas’s wrists with the other, holding them to his chest for a moment to keep them still.

“Dean…”

“Just let me,” Dean says. “Don’t… don’t do anything. Let me, Cas.”

Cas nods, relaxing back against the pillows, and Dean puts his hands on either side of his head, telling him with a look to keep them there.

Satisfied, Dean kisses Cas’s forehead, then trails soft kisses down the left side of his face, followed by the right. Then he kisses the bridge of Cas’s nose, down to the tip of it, hovers over Cas’s lips for a count of ten, just breathing, waiting until Cas is quivering for it, before finally tasting his lips, kissing first the upper lip and then the lower, keeping his movements controlled and gentle.

“Hmm, Dean,” Cas murmurs, sounding blissed out already.

Dean kisses down Cas’s chin and along his jaw to his ear, then follows the length of his neck down to the thin band of the collar.

Fuck, this is all so fucked up.

Dean licks along the edge of the collar, and he definitely likes the hitch in Cas’s breath too much.

He lifts away for a moment, bracing himself on one arm again so that he can trail his thumb over the engraving, positioned so that it is right above the hollow between Cas’s collarbones. He bites back the word that threatens to slip from his mouth, swallows it down because he doesn’t have the fucking _right_ , because this is a sham. This collar is a lie.

But Cas says it for him anyway—“Yours.”

A soft sound escapes Dean’s throat, something that could possibly be categorized as a _whimper_ , and when he finally dares to look, Cas is looking right back, steady and sure.

“I’m yours, Dean.”

“Mine,” Dean says shakily, letting his thumb slide to the side, up a little until his hand is resting over Cas’s throat, and if he exerted enough force, he could cut off Cas’s windpipe, just like that. Fuck, how can Cas trust him with this kind of power?

“Yours,” Cas repeats, and Dean growls despite himself, the alpha part of him positively beaming at the affirmation from his mate, basking in it.

Dean kisses the hollow of Cas’s throat, unbuttoning Cas’s crisp white shirt and kissing every inch of skin that is revealed to him. He allows Cas to move his hands to get the shirt off after it’s been unbuttoned, and then Dean reaches down and palms at the erection that’s tenting Cas’s pants, leaning forward again to mouth at Cas’s nipples. Cas arches into Dean’s ministrations, bucks his hips up into the pressure that Dean’s hand provides.

“God, Cas, you deserve someone better than me,” Dean whispers into the skin above his breastbone, and Cas stiffens.

“Dean, what did you just say?”

“You’re perfect,” Dean says, looking up and finding that Cas has lifted his head to look down at him. His hands haven’t moved from their spots on the pillow—he’d even put them back without Dean telling him to. “You deserve someone who is… who can give you everything.”

“You _are_ everything,” Cas replies, eyes soft. “There is no one else who can give me everything.”

Dean forces himself to smile. “Don’t worry, Cas. I won’t leave you just because I think you deserve better,” he says, and Cas actually lets out a relieved breath. “I’ll do my damned best to be what you need.”

The fondness in Cas’s eyes makes Dean want to recoil, and then Cas’s hand is cupping his jaw tenderly. “I need only you, exactly as you are. Nothing more.”

Dean turns his face into Cas’s palm and presses a kiss to the center of it, sloppy and wet, before grabbing his arm by the wrist and putting it back on the pillow. “Don’t move,” he says, and Cas smiles at him before letting his head drop back too, relaxing.

Dean resumes his trip down Cas’s body, stopping at his waist to get his jeans off. Cas is hard, dick curved up toward his belly, but Dean avoids it, laving over the sharp point of Cas’s right hip bone and then starting to work his way down Cas’s right thigh. He takes his time, lingering at random points to suck marks into Cas’s skin, because Cas’s job requires that he get all dressed up, so he shouldn’t have to worry about marks showing on his legs anyway.

By the time Dean comes back up to bite at Cas’s left hip bone, Cas is trembling minutely. He hasn’t moved his hands, though, and Dean figures he deserves a reward for that.

So he ducks his head and sucks the head of Cas’s cock into his mouth.

“Dean!” Cas yelps, hips bucking upward, and Dean hurries to hold him down and save himself from getting a broken nose.

Dean doesn’t actually have much experience sucking people off, but he goes for everything that usually works for him, alternating between sucking hard and lapping messily along Cas’s length, and it’s a good thing that Cas is an omega, smaller than Dean, because it makes it that much easier for Dean to take him all the way down.

“D-Dean—touch me. Please,” Cas gasps, legs spreading wider, unashamed about it.

And yeah, the scent of slick has pervaded the room for the past few minutes, however long Dean’s been working on Cas, so it just makes sense for Dean to find Cas’s slick entrance with two fingers and press them in, _in_.

Dean works up a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down and fingering Cas’s ass relentlessly, and Cas squirms on the mattress, all but wailing his pleasure.

It becomes too much for Cas, and he seems to try his best to warn Dean of what’s coming, from the garbled words that come out of his mouth, but Dean is determined to suck the tenseness right out of him, send him to work next week completely rested up—it’s a Friday night, so technically Cas has got the whole weekend left to decompress, but still.

Cas comes down Dean’s throat, insides clenching down tight around Dean’s fingers—four, at this point—practically gushing with wetness.

“Fuck,” Dean says, wiping his chin and pulling his fingers out of Cas so that he can suck them into his mouth, chasing Cas’s taste.

Cas reaches for him then, grabbing at his clothes to get them off, and Dean wants to protest, because this, this wasn’t about him. He doesn’t _want_ it to be about him, doesn’t think he even wants to get off, even though he’s quite possibly harder than he’s ever been right now.

Dean makes a halfhearted attempt to push Cas’s hands away, but Cas doesn’t seem to get the hint, getting his hands under Dean’s shirt and dragging it upward. To be fair, Dean isn’t trying that hard to resist, letting Cas push him onto his back.

“Cas,” Dean says, “it’s okay. We can sleep now.”

“You really want to sleep?” Cas says, the corners of his lips twitching upward. He palms Dean through his jeans, working at his belt with his free hand, and Dean can hardly keep his hips still. “If I stopped right now, you really wouldn’t mind,” Cas continues, and he looks a little less amused now.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Dean answers, pulling Cas closer to kiss him.

“Well, _I_ would,” Cas says, getting Dean’s pants open. He shoves down at Dean’s pants and boxers and says, “I want to make you feel good.”

“I already feel good,” Dean says, unable to hold back a grunt when Cas gets a hold of his dick. “God, you’re greedy,” he groans. “Coming once just isn’t enough, huh?”

“Not enough,” Cas replies, straddling Dean’s hips and fisting his cock. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

Dean doesn’t protest when Cas lifts up onto his knees, positioning himself, and then Cas is sinking down onto Dean’s cock, slick and hot and perfect around him.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, sitting up and reaching for Cas, hooking a hand around the back of his neck.

Cas starts rolling his hips, and Dean lets one hand drop to the small of his back, not trying to control his pace, just resting it there, feeling the way Cas’s muscles shift under his touch. It doesn’t take long for Cas to get hard again, rocking back and forth in Dean’s lap.

“Ah— _ah_ —Dean,” Cas huffs, holding onto Dean’s shoulders and quickening his pace.

But Dean doesn’t want that, slowing Cas down and twisting, rolling them over to put Cas on his back.

“Yes,” Cas gasps as Dean pushes into him. “Yes, Dean, yes—more.”

Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck, lips grazing against the new collar, and god, he must have been a fucking _saint_ in his past life, because he definitely hasn’t done anything good enough in this life to earn this. Cas’s scent is heady, irresistible, and Dean doesn’t think he could stop himself if he wanted to.

So Dean fucks him nice and slow, makes him come twice more before finally knotting him.

As Dean comes down, Cas whispers praise in his ear, and Dean just holds him, silently vows to be as good to Cas as he can be.

**LUST**

When Kevin calls his mom to say that he’ll be a bit late to dinner tonight, she only complains a little, which is—better than expected. It’s been over a year since he moved out, yet she still wants to see him every weekend. For their Saturday dinners, Kevin usually tries to go to her in the afternoon so that he can help out a little in the kitchen, but he’s got a couple errands to run today.

So after promising that he’ll get there by six, he hangs up and heads out to meet Jo for coffee; her schedule for the day is filled up, and her only free time is about ten minutes from now.

They haven’t gotten together in a long time, and maybe Kevin misses hanging out with her, but that’s not the reason behind his visit today. No, today is about Sam, and Kevin didn’t bother trying to hide it when he asked Jo to meet. It’s all right, because he knows that Jo cares a lot about them—Jo was the one who first recommended that Dean take Sam to Kevin, after all.

Kevin hasn’t ever gone out of his way to find out more about a patient, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever had such a difficult time getting through to someone before.

He and Sam have gone over Sam’s childhood, have talked through his issues with his dad, but Kevin still has yet to hear Sam say much about Ruby. Sam had seemed to be getting better enough that Kevin almost thought it wouldn’t be necessary to make him relive it all, but after the last episode, he is certain that he’ll need to dig into that relationship. Ruby affected Sam profoundly, and Kevin finds himself almost _envious_ of her hold on him. It’s horrible, but the sentiment is there, and Kevin cannot simply deny its existence.

He parks in front of the small coffee shop that he and Jo often frequented when they were both still in school together—they’d first met when Kevin was in the second year of his graduate program, still only seventeen. He’d been a TA for Introduction to Psychology, and all the students he’d helped to teach were older than him by two or three years. Jo had been one of them, a sophomore undergraduate. She was the only student that Kevin had actually gotten along with, and they’d stayed friends after that.

It’s been six years since then, and after a stint as a nurse, Jo is now on her way to getting her Doctorate in Psychology. That’s part of why she’s so busy—on top of her studies, she’s working part time to supplement the student loans she took out. Kevin is actually supposed to be on the lookout for some sort of an assistant position for Jo at Silver Reflections, but nothing has opened up yet.

Once inside the coffee shop, he hears his name called out, and it takes just a second for Kevin to spot Jo at one of the booths by the window. He hurries on over, leaning down to hug her before passing the table and sliding into the seat across from her.

“So, how long do you have?” Kevin asks.

“Oh, twenty minutes, maybe?” Jo says. “I already ordered for us—the usual.”

“Thanks,” Kevin says.

Jo waves a hand dismissively and says, “You wanted to talk about Sam?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says. “I uh, never wanted to resort to this, but I just need to know everything that you can tell me about Ruby.”

“Oh,” Jo says, frowning. “I can’t really help you there. Shouldn’t you be going to Dean with this? I mean, the only stuff I know about Ruby I heard from Dean, anyway.”

“I asked him about it right at the beginning of Sam’s treatment, but it was a prickly subject.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be,” Jo says. “What do you wanna know?”

“All I really know is that they met when Sam had just graduated from Stanford,” Kevin replies. “I don’t even know how they met.”

“I don’t think Dean even knows how they met,” Jo says.

“Okay, she was the one who got him into drugs,” Kevin says, thinking aloud. “That means she could possibly be in the system somewhere, right? Do you know her last name?”

“Williams,” Jo answers. “‘System,’ though? You’re gonna go to the cops about this?”

“I have a friend I can talk to.”

“Dude,” Jo says, “are you sure you want to do all this? I mean, it’s is a little above and beyond the call of duty, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” Kevin admits. “But hey, they’re our friends, so I’m gonna do whatever I can for them. That’s what you do for friends, right?”

“Mhmm,” Jo says skeptically. Her shoulders hunch a little, and Kevin can scent her reluctance to continue their discussion in the minty coolness that fills the air between them.

So he says, “If you don’t know anything else about Ruby, I’ll see what I can find out later. Since we’re both here, why don’t you tell me a little bit more about what you’re doing for your thesis?”

“Oh my god, are you really offering? Because I definitely want your opinion on it, if you’ve got time.”

“Sure,” Kevin says, smiling. “ _You’re_ the one who never has time.”

The barista calls Jo’s name, and Kevin stops her from getting up, offering to grab their drinks.

They don’t get into too much detail with Jo’s topic of study because Jo is still on a schedule, so when the twenty minutes are up, she takes her drink and leaves. Kevin is left alone at the table, and before long, his thoughts return to Sam.

Getting out his phone, he finds Jody’s number and dials it.

She answers promptly with, “Kevin, what’s up?”

“Hey, Jody. I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

“Shoot.”

“Can you pull someone’s criminal record for me?”

“Oh, dear,” Jody says.

“It’s to do with a patient,” Kevin explains.

“Hmm,” Jody says, and Kevin hears the sound of a keyboard clacking in the background. “Whose record are you looking for?”

“Ruby Williams.”

“All right, just a sec,” Jody says. “So, why do you want her record? Is she your patient, or…”

“No, she was just a friend of a patient of mine,” Kevin answers.

“Hmm. Well, she’s not pinging on the local database, but I can check for federal records too.”

“Yeah, could you?” Kevin says.

“Sure. Was she important to your patient?”

“In a way. I can’t really give any details away. Y’know, patient confidentiality and all that.”

Jody laughs. “Oh, because I’m not breaking any rules giving you this information.” Kevin only chuckles in response, but then Jody says, “And I’m still getting nothing. You sure she’s got a record?”

“Maybe not,” Kevin says. “Though I think if she’s got a record anywhere, it’s probably in California.”

“Mhmm,” Jody hums. “Well, I’ve got a friend out there who can check some local records, if it’s that important to you.”

“It is.”

“Okay, then. Do you know where in California she would’ve been picked up?”

“The bay area, probably around Palo Alto?” Kevin guesses.

“All right—I’ll give him a call and see if he can find anything for you,” Jody says.

“Thanks,” Kevin says. “I really appreciate it.”

After a pause, Jody says, “You’re really not gonna tell me anything? Why is this one person so important if she’s not even your patient?”

“I’ve been trying to talk to my patient about her, but he hasn’t been receptive,” Kevin says. “I’m running short on time, so I’m trying some other methods to see what I can find out. I don’t know whether or not it’ll be helpful, but I figured I’d try anyway.”

“You’ve never gone so far for a patient before,” Jody observes. It’s true, but Kevin flinches anyway, because he doesn’t like having that pointed out. “You ought to be careful,” Jody adds. “These people aren’t always trustworthy.”

“Sam is different,” Kevin can’t resist saying.

“No matter how different he is, he’s still only a patient, Kevin. Don’t you forget that.”

Kevin holds back a sigh. “I know. Thanks, Jody.”


	5. The Race

_Love is a dangerous game to play;_

_Hearts were made for breaking and for pain._

* * *

When Dean walks into the restaurant, Benny, Bela, Victor, and Jo are already at the usual table. Dean takes one of the two empty seats, the one between Benny and Jo—the other is between Bela and Victor, which means that Charlie is running late.

“Aha! Told you he’d show today,” Jo says.

“Hey, I can hardly be blamed for thinking that he’d ditch us for his new omega like he did last Thursday,” Bela says. Glancing over at Dean, she adds, “That Castiel must really be something.”

“Yeah, he’s—” Dean starts, but then he stops, frowning. “Wait, you got interviewed, too?”

“Well, yes, of course. I’m an alpha,” Bela says.

“All of Crowley’s alphas were interviewed,” Benny says.

“Even me,” Victor chimes in. “Made no sense, given that Crowley knew Mr. Sacre was looking to find a mate for his little brother, and I’m already taken.”

“Eh, he probably figured the money would be enough to sway you,” Bela says. “Lord knows I considered it. The Sacre Corporation is worth billions.”

“Don’t let Charlie hear you say that,” Benny chides, grinning.

“You say that as though she doesn’t already know me,” Bela says, rolling her eyes. “And come on— _billions_ , gents. You’d never have to sit through an uncomfortable date with a socially stunted omega again. I mean, I figure there’s got to be something wrong with the poor fool if he’s not mated at twenty-nine, but that’s a hell of a lot of money.”

“Well, I don’t know about Charlie, but if Victor even thought about it, I’d bite his head off,” Jo says.

Victor laughs. “It’s a good thing I didn’t think about it, then.”

“I’m actually surprised that Crowley was willing to part with you,” Bela says to Dean. “He’s insufferable, always singing your praises.”

“About that,” Dean says. “He tried to sabotage my interview.”

“That sounds like him,” Benny comments.

“Yeah. First he said that he wanted me to bomb the interview, and then he followed it up by saying that Balthazar was gonna be finding a mate for his little _sister_ , not brother.”

“How’d you end up with the position, then?” Victor asks. “Mr. Sacre seemed pretty uptight when we spoke—I imagine he would’ve been insulted if you went into the interview with the wrong information.”

“I guess he knows Crowley pretty well,” Dean answers.

“Ah, so he realized that if Crowley was going out of his way to give you the incorrect information, it meant Crowley wanted to keep you,” Bela says.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, that explains it,” Bela says. “I was so sure that he would pick Benny.”

“I gotta say I’m relieved to be free,” Benny says. “I’m good with things the way they are. Though I have to agree with Bela that it wasn’t a bad deal. Just sucks for the ‘poor fool.’”

“Hey, that ‘poor fool’ is my mate now,” Dean says, and he’s only supposed to be mock-offended, but he’s surprised by how protective he actually feels over Cas.

“Well, it certainly could’ve been worse, for him,” Victor says. “He could’ve ended up with Gordon.”

Benny laughs, Dean lets out a huff that’s half amusement and half horror at the _thought_ of Cas being mated to that son of a bitch, and Bela says, “Oh, _god_.”

Jo frowns and says, “Y’know, you guys act like this is all a joke, but Castiel is an actual _person_. Sure, it was all a setup, or whatever, but he and Dean are actually mated, for real. Don’t you think you oughta be at least a _little_ more sensitive about it?”

“Dude, Jo, it’s fine. I can take a joke,” Dean says. “It wasn’t even at my expense.”

“I don’t know,” Jo says, shaking her head. “I think you’re taking this too lightly.”

“Oh, lighten up a bit, will you?” Bela says, pausing to take a drink of water. “Dean is probably going to be suffering through uptight gatherings for the rest of his life. Let’s not deny him a chance to loosen up.”

Dean only flashes a quick smile when Bela looks his way, because he doesn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation. He’d argue with Jo that he’s _not_ taking this lightly, because he knows that he’s a piece of shit for lying to Cas like this, but the last thing he wants is to _share_ that he feels this way.

“What’ll happen when he finds out?” Jo says, and that has everyone’s eyes turning toward Dean.

All Dean can say is, “He’s not gonna find out.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, but then Charlie arrives, and Dean is immensely relieved for the distraction. In his peripheral vision, he can still see Jo eyeing him, concerned, unconvinced, but it’s easier to just ignore her, turn his focus on the others instead.

It’s gonna be fine. Balthazar and Dean are the only people in Cas’s circle who know, anyway.

He isn’t gonna find out.

**LUST**

Sam doesn’t get any private sessions with Kevin the week after his—after the incident. Kevin doesn’t lead their group sessions either, Dr. Fitzgerald stepping in to take his place, and Sam almost expects Fitzgerald to be the one waiting for him when he walks into the office where they usually hold their private sessions.

But Kevin is in his usual armchair, and Sam tries not to show his surprise.

“Kevin,” he says reflexively, which—shit.

“Sam,” Kevin returns before Sam can correct himself. “Please, sit.”

Sam nods and goes over to the chair, sitting down gingerly and then wiggling around a little, relaxing into the soft cushions.

“Before we begin, today, I thought I’d come clean to you about something,” Kevin says.

Sam’s heart immediately leaps into his throat at that, because what if—what if Kevin wants him, too?

“Last weekend, I started doing some digging into your past,” Kevin says, and Sam doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed that this has nothing to do with Kevin’s feelings. “I realize that it’s… not exactly ethical, and I’m sorry. It’s just—we’re coming down to the end of your time here, and while I believe that you’re not in danger of relapsing, you might still be a little…”

“Dangerous?” Sam supplies.

“I was going for a word more like volatile,” Kevin says gently. “I’d like to think that Ruby is the only person you’ll react to the way you did, but we can’t know whether or not you’d react the same way with someone who resembled her, in scent or appearance. So I thought it’d be best if we could try to… to at least start to resolve your feelings about her.”

“I don’t have any feelings about her.”

“That’s dishonest.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to talk about this now, but I really think that it’d be better for you if we did,” Kevin says.

“Of course you think that,” Sam says.

Kevin doesn’t respond, though, and they sit in silence for a long time. Sam wonders what Kevin is thinking, wonders why he would’ve gone to the trouble of looking into Sam’s past even after Sam clocked him.

Belatedly, he realizes that the bruise must have faded, because he didn’t notice it when he entered the room. He’s sure he would’ve noticed—he’s always been sensitive to Kevin. It had started before he’d realized it, or else he thinks he would have stopped himself.

Maybe if he’d started catching himself earlier, he’d be better at distancing himself from Kevin now, but as it is, Sam closes his eyes and inhales, and he scents tones of rose, of honey and almond, laced subtly with bitterness, and he knows that Kevin is worried, which seems to be pretty much his default state when it comes to Sam. The scent is incongruous, like it always is, and Sam just wants to make it go away. He knows how, of course, but… well, that would require talking about it.

But maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s time he tried—for Kevin’s sake, at least.

“When uh, when I was in my last year at Stanford, I got mugged. Almost mugged, rather,” Sam says. “It was some woman with a gun who wanted my wallet. Ruby happened to be passing by and scared her off. Apparently, they’d crossed paths before. I guess that should’ve been my first warning, huh, the fact that Ruby hung around back alleys enough that she knew muggers.”

Sam pauses, expecting Kevin to speak up, but he says nothing. Not for the first time, Sam feels tempted to turn his chair around, so that he can at least see Kevin’s reaction.

“We fell in love,” Sam says. “Or—well, I thought we did. I thought _I_ did, at least. And she made me think that she felt the same way.”

“I believe you,” Kevin says. “It’s amazing what people can make us believe, especially when we already want to believe it.”

“Sure,” Sam says.

“She must have been truly skilled at deception—trained, probably,” Kevin says.

“What makes you say that?”

“Not just anyone can pull off deception like that. It takes more than just a good poker face,” Kevin says. “She would have gone through scent training, in two parts—the first would have heightened her sensitivity to others’ scents, to get as much information by scent as possible, and the second would have taught her how to control her own pheromones.”

“How would you even do that?” Sam asks.

“Our bodies release scents based on our emotions; that’s the way we’re wired. So to control what you project to the world, you have to learn how to control your emotions,” Kevin says. “Most people who go into clinical professions have some sort of training in that area—rechanneling emotions to be more neutral.”

“Clinical, huh? So I’m guessing you were trained to do that, too?”

“Not for deception,” Kevin responds. “I learned more to do with scent perception than scent disguise.”

After a pause, Sam asks, “Why are you even getting into this with me? Is it even relevant, how she deceived me? She got to me, and that’s all that matters, in the end.”

“I disagree,” Kevin says. “It’s crucial for you to understand her, at least to some extent. You’re having a lot of trouble letting go, and I think it’s because you blame yourself for what she did to you.”

“It wasn’t all her,” Sam says. “I can’t blame her for my own choices. I chose to start. I could have chosen not to just as easily—I could have told her no.”

“I’m not saying that she is entirely to blame for everything that you’ve done,” Kevin says. “I simply want you to forgive yourself. If she deceived you, if she pulled you in, she could have made you susceptible to suggestion. We all do crazy things for love, don’t we?”

“That’s not an excuse—”

“And I don’t mean for it to be an excuse,” Kevin says quickly. “Not an excuse, merely a rationalization.”

“Sounds like just another word for an excuse,” Sam says.

“If you choose to see it that way,” Kevin allows, after a pause. “Tell me more, if you can.”

“Well, you already know I was dealing.”

“How involved was Ruby in the process?”

“Very,” Sam answers.

It had been exhilarating, making each transaction, handling that much money, that much supply. He’d actually had fucking _drums_ of the stuff at one point, distributing to a group of other dealers in the area and collecting when they’d made their sales.

“What was it that made you finally decide that you’d had enough?” Kevin asks, breaking into his thoughts.

“What did Dean tell you?” Sam asks.

“It doesn’t matter what Dean said to me,” Kevin replies. “I need to know what happened from your mouth, not his.” When Sam doesn’t answer, Kevin says, gently, “Come on, Sam. You’ve been so forthcoming today. Don’t stop now—please?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Sam says, willing himself to get on with it. He can get through this. “I never actually wanted to quit—not for good, anyway.”

“Why did you stop, then?” Kevin asks.

“I was kind of a major distributor in the area,” Sam says. “I don’t know whether it was because I was just that good, or if Ruby was pulling strings behind the scenes, but either way, the end result was the same. I was responsible for distribution by the drum, and I got my stock replenished whenever I needed it. One night, I went to sleep with three and a half drums of the stuff in my apartment, to be measured out and circulated out to dealers in the area. The next morning, three full drums were missing. So was Ruby.”

“What did you feel?”

“I was just confused, at first,” Sam says. “I hadn’t realized that she’d gone for good, kept telling myself that maybe she was just out, maybe she’d taken the drums with her to do the distribution herself, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

He keeps his eyes on the wall in front of him, on the door, because he can still see the interior of the apartment in his mind’s eye, seemingly so innocuous, except that he had been living with a snake for the past three years.

It’s been about two years since that morning, yet he still remembers exactly how he felt, still feels it, and suddenly just looking at the walls of the therapy room isn’t enough to keep him here, because he’s back in that apartment, drowning in the realization that Ruby isn’t coming back—that she’s taken it all and made a break for it, making Sam responsible for the loss of just under seven _million_ dollars’ worth of heroin. He let himself get too confident, and now it’s come back to bite him. He tries to breathe, but the knowledge is too much, clogging his lungs, choking him, and he thinks he might be screaming—

A hard slap to his face brings him back, and he nearly lashes out, repulsed by the scent of panic in the room, thick and cloying, suffocating.

“Sam,” Kevin says, low and even, hands on either side of Sam’s jaw, and Sam can only grip his thin wrists, surprised by the strength in them. “Sam, are you with me?”

Sam swallows, meets Kevin’s wide eyes, and does his best to just breathe. With Kevin so close to him, the scent of his worry is almost too easy to pick out of the air, and Sam doesn’t like it, but it’s better than the panic that permeates his being.

“Sam,” Kevin repeats, insistent.

“Yeah,” Sam chokes out. “Yeah, ‘m here.”

“Okay,” Kevin says, relieved, but his hands don’t leave Sam’s face, and Sam keeps his hands circled around Kevin’s wrists, gentle enough that Kevin could pull away if he wanted to. “How do you feel?”

Sam almost laughs. “How do you think I feel?”

Kevin only nods. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have pushed when you hesitated.”

“No, you—you’re fine,” Sam says, keeping his eyes on Kevin’s because it’s easier that way, because when he’s looking at them, he knows that he’s not there, that he got away, and that he’s—not alone.

“I think we’ve done enough for today,” Kevin says at length, something regretful in the words. He starts to pull his hands back, and if Sam thinks that Kevin’s fingertips linger a moment too long, it’s gotta just be his mind playing tricks on him.

Sam manages to uncurl his fingers from where they’re wrapped around Kevin’s wrists, and he hates the sudden ache he feels in his bones, as if it’s wrong for him to not be touching Kevin, holding onto him somehow.

Still, he forces himself to say, “Thanks, Kevin.”

He realizes that he just referred to Kevin by first name again and is about to apologize, but Kevin is smiling, small and quiet, and Sam can’t bring himself to break the spell.

“Thank you, Sam,” Kevin answers.

**LUST**

Castiel is sitting at his desk, reading through an exhibit on the profitability of the summer vacation program that they used earlier this year to promote Sacre Hotel and Resorts—they need to decide whether or not to use it again next year.

A light knock on his door makes him look up, just in time to see the door swing open. Rachel pokes her head in and says, “Hey, it’s lunchtime.”

Castiel’s eyes flick to the digital clock on the corner of his computer screen and read that it’s 12:18pm. “I hadn’t noticed,” he says.

“Well, I brought you something,” Rachel says, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Kind of you,” Castiel replies. “I was just going through the summary that you put together on the profitability of our summer program.”

“That can wait ‘til you’ve gotten something to eat,” Rachel says as she sets a takeout container down on the desk in front of Castiel. She pulls up a chair across from him and puts down her own portion as well. “We won’t need a final decision on it until next March.”

Conceding her point, Castiel minimizes the window on his screen and turns on the screensaver before turning to his lunch.

About ten minutes later, after Castiel has gotten through half of his panini, Rachel says, “I noticed an abnormally large sum of money leaving one of our accounts, under Balthazar’s name.”

Castiel smiles and asks, “What do you consider ‘abnormally large,’ for Balthazar?”

“One million,” Rachel answers, “taken out in two half-million payments.”

“That _is_ a little higher than normal,” Castiel says. “Did he buy another ridiculously overpriced car?”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t it,” Rachel says quietly.

“Okay. I’m assuming you’d like me to talk to him about it,” Castiel says. “So save me the guesswork and just tell me what it is. I can call him into my office after lunch.”

“I’d… actually advise against that.”

That doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason for Rachel to be bringing up Balthazar’s extravagant lifestyle choices except to ask Castiel to convince him to stop. “Why?” he asks.

Rachel looks hesitant, setting her sandwich down and finishing her bite before speaking up. “How long have you and Dean been mated?”

“Just under two weeks,” Castiel replies, frowning.

“And how long ago did you two meet?”

“About three weeks,” Castiel says. “I’m sorry—how is this relevant?”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious at all that Dean just _happened_ to run into you only a month before your birthday?” Rachel says, sounding only slightly exasperated.

“I thought it was chance.”

“You really believe that,” Rachel says skeptically.

Castiel doesn’t think he likes where his sister is going with this. “Will you just say what you mean?”

Rachel sighs. “Dean Winchester is… smart. He’s funny, he’s charming, and he’s—very handsome. I’ve asked Alfie and Inias, and the date that you and Dean met is only two days before Balthazar took the first half million out of his account.”

“It was a setup,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “ _That’s_ what you want me to believe.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the idea, Cas.”

“I’m dismissing it because it’s nonsense,” Castiel replies.

“You’re _that_ sure that Dean is the real deal,” Rachel says.

“Do you think I would have mated him otherwise?”

Rachel closes her eyes, something regretful in the twist of her lips. But when she looks back at Castiel, she seems just as adamant as before. “I’m sorry to hurt you,” she says, “but I’m only trying to look out for you. I’m not blaming Balthazar, and you shouldn’t, either—he only wants what’s best for you.”

“I haven’t accepted your accusations as truth,” Castiel points out. Rachel looks like she’s going to argue, and Castiel is tired of it—he doesn’t want to hear any more. So he says, “If you insist, I’ll ask Dean about it when I see him tonight.”

“You’re not gonna—”

“No, I won’t be going to Balthazar with this,” Castiel says. “Getting a straight answer out of him is difficult even on simple topics. Accusing him of setting up my relationship with Dean will not go well. I assume that’s partially why you didn’t go to him yourself.”

Rachel nods in acceptance. “For your sake, I hope that I’m wrong,” she says.

Castiel doesn’t respond, because he has nothing to say to that—no matter what Rachel claims to hope, she is already convinced that she is right. Castiel will just have to prove her wrong.

**LUST**

After his talk with Sam, Kevin hurries back into his office, palms and fingers still tingling where they came into contact with Sam’s cheeks and jaw. He clenches his hands into fists, telling himself that he will _not_ sniff his own fingers right now, no matter how badly he wants to. It’s bad enough that he—that he invaded Sam’s space like that.

At first, it had been fine. Sam was clearly slipping into a bad headspace, and Kevin was doing the right thing as his psychiatrist, pulling him back. But as soon as Sam regained cogent thought, Kevin should have let him go.

God, all he’d wanted to do was _kiss_ him.

He can almost feel Sam’s hands—big, strong, _alpha_ —still wrapped around his wrists, and before he even realizes it, he’s inhaling Sam’s scent, one wrist held up to his nose.

Kevin shakes himself out of it, linking his fingers together behind his back and holding on tight, because he clearly doesn’t have control over himself.

He needs to talk to someone, needs to get out of here before he does something stupid.

Making up his mind, Kevin crosses the room to his desk and picks up the phone, dialing Channing’s number—he memorized it when they were still together, way back when, and it hasn’t changed since.

Twenty minutes later, Kevin meets Channing on a bench just off the main path in a park near the clinic. She has two to-go cups with her, and Kevin knows before even scenting them that she’ll have picked out some sort of tea for him to try. She’s always been very fond of herbal teas.

“Hey, Kev,” she says, offering a cup to him after he’s taken his seat.

“Hi,” Kevin answers, taking the cup and sniffing carefully. “Rose,” he says, surprised. “I thought you weren’t all that into floral teas anymore.”

“I thought this one was okay,” Channing says. “What else?”

Humoring her, Kevin inhales again, trying to distinguish the scents that are blended together. “There’s—apple and a hint of pineapple,” he says, frowning. “There’s definitely something else. I don’t… know what it is.”

Channing chuckles. “Can’t blame you on that. It’s fig,” she says.

“Fig tea?” Kevin says, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Channing says, taking a sip from her own cup.

Kevin follows suit, sipping carefully. The tea is sweet but not overly so, a little tangy, and… good, surprisingly. “Tastes good,” he tells Channing.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“My mom wouldn’t,” Kevin replies.

“Well, yeah. The tea your mom drinks is bitter as all hell.”

Kevin laughs, because it’s true—Mom’s tea of choice is kuding tea, the name of which translates literally to “bitter nail” tea. No matter how many times Kevin has tried it, he just can’t get used to its acridity.

“Looks like today’s tea was a good choice,” Channing says, and Kevin nods.

They’re quiet for just a moment longer, waiting for a couple to walk past their bench, and then Kevin says, “So, you look really happy. Mated life working out well?”

“It’s great,” Channing answers. “Parker is so much better for me than you ever were. Gosh, you were _horrible_.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes. “You weren’t exactly alpha of the year, either.”

“Really, though, I _am_ happy,” Channing says. “Apparently that’s all gonna change, and I’m gonna start being miserable, right around eight months from now.”

“What’s happening in eight—oh, shit,” Kevin says, looking at Channing sharply. “Is Parker—”

“Yep,” Channing says. “We’re having a little one. I’m so not ready.”

“Holy crap, wow,” Kevin says. “Congrats. And you’re gonna have eight months to get used to the idea—you’ll be at least halfway ready when the baby comes around, and as long as Parker’s also halfway there, things will work out.”

Channing laughs. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. His parents and mine all live within a two hour drive from here, so at least there’ll always be someone we can go to for help.”

“That’s good,” Kevin says.

After a pause, Channing leans back and crosses her legs, resting her cup of tea on the armrest to her left. Looking forward at the trees across from them, she says, “But anyway, enough about me—I know you didn’t call me out here to talk about Parker having my baby. So, lay it on me.”

Kevin sighs, drinks some more tea. “It’s about a patient,” he says.

“Then you probably shouldn’t be telling me.”

“Well—it’s not relevant to his therapy. Not directly relevant,” Kevin says. “He’s been at Silver Reflections for almost two years, and uh, I think I have… feelings for him.”

“Hmm,” Channing hums. “The sexy kind of feelings, or the forever kind?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin admits. “A little bit of both, I guess.”

“So, what, you’re beating yourself up because he’s a patient and you’re a psychiatrist?” Channing says. “It’s not wrong to like someone, Kev.”

“No, but it’s wrong for me to—to want the things that I want with him. I keep telling myself that it’s nothing, that he’s gonna get better and leave, but when I think about that _actually_ happening, it…” Kevin pauses, trying to find the right words.

“It’s unthinkable, isn’t it?” Channing says, softly.

“Yeah.”

“Does this patient of yours have any feelings for you?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“What the hell do you mean, it’s irrelevant? Of _course_ it’s relevant,” Channing says. “For a psychiatrist, you _suck_ at dealing with feelings.”

“What would you do, then, if you were in my position?”

“I’d go for it,” Channing says.

Kevin flinches at the suggestion. “Channing, that’s—unethical. A doctor-patient relationship isn’t balanced. We’d be on uneven footing.”

“Then refer him to someone else,” Channing says, and it’s so simple when she puts it like that.

But Kevin doesn’t want to lose Sam as a patient, not now that he’s finally making some headway. He can’t imagine Sam opening up to Garth right away, and as much as he’d love to have Sam around for another two years, he knows that that’s not sustainable for Dean—though he _did_ apparently come into some money recently, because he just paid off all outstanding bills for Sam’s stay at Silver Reflections.

Come to think of it, Kevin should probably check with him, just to make sure he’s doing okay. It’s none of his business what Dean does to make money, but Dean has sorta become his friend over the course of the past two years, and Kevin cares about him.

“Or, you could just come clean to him about your feelings and ask him what he wants to do,” Channing says, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I mean, if you’re talking about uneven footing, it’s not fair to him for you to keep your feelings secret from him if he has to tell you everything about himself.”

“I’m not—that’s the way it’s supposed to be, because I’m his psychiatrist,” Kevin says.

“My point is, if you’re worried about being on uneven footing with him, but you still want him to be your patient, maybe share your secrets with him, too. Wouldn’t that even the playing field a little?”

“It’s still unethical,” Kevin says, shaking his head.

“I think you’ve spent too much time buried in the rule books, Kev,” Channing says. “What if you can’t get him out of your head because he’s supposed to be your mate? You can’t just let him walk away.”

“Predestined mates are a myth,” Kevin says.

“No one’s proved that,” Channing replies. “Look, you asked me out here for my opinion, so I’m giving you my opinion. You don’t have to do what I say. For all I know, I could be wrong. I don’t know anything about this patient of yours, after all. But Kev, if you can’t trust anyone else, trust yourself.”

“Thanks, Channing,” Kevin says. Smiling, he adds, “Y’know, you’re not bad at this. Maybe you should go into psychology. Screw med school.”

“Oh, don’t you dare let either of our parents hear that. They’ll kill you for being a bad influence on me.”

**LUST**

They’re at a five star restaurant tonight, for no other reason than the fact that Cas wanted to treat Dean to “something special.” He doesn’t know that Dean’s been here more than a few times, on jobs.

But it feels different tonight, better. Dean tries to tell himself that it’s not Cas, but it is—of course it is. When Cas is in the room, Dean automatically feels more settled, grounded, and it’s probably just biology, the alpha in him reacting to his mate’s presence, but Dean can’t help but think that it might be more than that.

He’s never been in love before, but he’s starting to think that he might be, with Cas.

And sure, it’s good for Dean to be attached to the person he’ll be spending the rest of his life with, but he also can’t shake the guilt that threatens to surface every time he looks at Cas.

The dinner goes smoothly, just as everything in their fake-relationship has gone so far, and if Cas weren’t _Cas_ , Dean thinks he’d almost be bored with it all.

But between the fourth and fifth courses, Dean catches sight of Crowley, sitting just a few tables away, and shit, it’s only a matter of time before Crowley sees him, if he hasn’t already. Before Dean can look away, Crowley meets his eyes and fucking _winks_ , and oh, fuck, Dean is _so screwed_.

He’s about to make an excuse, _any_ excuse, for them to get out of here, but then Crowley is getting up from his table and coming over, and Cas has turned a little in his seat to see what Dean’s looking at.

“Mr. Sacre!” Crowley says, and Cas actually stands up, which prompts Dean to follow suit. Cas and Crowley shake hands, and Dean is surprised by the warmth in Cas’s smile—he _knows_ Crowley, and from the looks of it, they might even be _friends_. What the _fuck_.

“Hello, Mr. Crowley—it’s been some time,” Cas says.

“Yes, ages,” Crowley responds.

Turning toward Dean, Cas starts, “This is—”

“Ah yes, Dean,” Crowley interrupts, eyes flicking over to Dean. “We know each other pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah,” Dean is forced to respond.

“How is your new job?” Crowley asks.

“It’s treating me fine,” Dean says tightly.

“That’s good to hear,” Crowley says.

“How do you two know each other?” Cas asks.

“Oh, Dean used to work for me.”

“Which company?” Cas asks. To Dean, he adds, “Crowley and I sealed a couple large-scale deals in the past, mostly for construction sites, but also some other… miscellaneous issues. I dare say I’m very familiar with his enterprises.”

Crowley smiles, all charm, and says with a wink, “Oh, Cas, you wouldn’t be familiar with this particular venture. It’s one of my… less dignified businesses, if you will. You know I’ve got my fingers in all sorts of pies.”

Cas stiffens slightly and answers, “Ah, I see.”

Fuck, he knows.

“But I’m glad to see Dean suits you, of course. It doesn’t matter where happiness comes from, really, as long as it’s genuine,” Crowley says, and his words sound like the last nail in the coffin.

Dean wants to strangle him.

“Well spoken,” Cas responds, tone as genial as before, but when his eyes flick to Dean, they seem different—colder. Looking back at Crowley, Cas says, “You must come by my office sometime. I’d like to hear some more about what you’ve been doing lately.”

“Or you could let me buy you and your mate dinner,” Crowley says. “After all, we’re all friends here.”

“I’d rather not discuss business at the dinner table, so I’d still like you to come to my office, but I wouldn’t be opposed to free dinner,” Cas says, smiling.

“Well, then. I hope to see the both of you again very soon,” Crowley says, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder before heading back toward his own table.

Cas sits back down, but Dean can’t bring himself to move, frozen in place.

“Cas—” he starts, shaken.

“Dean, sit,” Cas says steadily. “Please,” he adds when Dean doesn’t move.

Dean slowly sits back down, just as their waiter returns with dessert. When the man is gone, Dean tries again, “Look, Cas, I can—”

“Not here, not now,” Cas interrupts calmly, but he’s not smiling anymore, and though he’s looking at Dean, he won’t meet Dean’s gaze.

Dean swallows hard. “Yeah, okay.”

Fuck, it’s over. Dean is relieved that he won’t have to feel so guilty anymore, that the lies are over and done with, but he’s also hurt, terrified, and he hadn’t expected to feel so strongly about this, to have to work so hard to tamp his emotions down.

With nothing else left to do, Dean starts in on the dessert. It looks like something chocolate, something that would ordinarily be delicious, but it tastes like ash in his mouth.

He’s gonna lose Cas, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He hadn’t realized just how painful that would be until this moment, and all he can think is that this, this is what he deserves.

Cas doesn’t look at him for the rest of the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "bitter nail tea" (苦丁茶) is totally a thing that my mom drinks, haha. I couldn't resist throwing it in there.


	6. End of All Days

_The temples are now burning,_

_Our faith caught up in flames._

_I need a new direction,_

_'Cause I have lost my way._

* * *

Dean manages to keep quiet until he brings the car to a stop in front of Castiel’s place. He turns to Castiel then, probably about to start explaining, but Castiel still doesn’t feel ready to listen. Without waiting for Dean to speak, he pushes the door open and climbs out of the Impala. A moment later, Dean’s door opens too, and they make their way up the walk to Castiel’s front door.

Inside the house, Castiel leads Dean straight into the room where they first lay together, where Castiel laid himself bare and asked Dean to mate him.

Just this afternoon, he’d been so sure that Dean couldn’t have been lying to him—how could Dean have known ahead of time that Castiel would ask to mate him? But now, after what Crowley said…

Castiel points Dean at the new couch, the one that he’d bought to replace the one they ruined their first night together, and Dean sits down, clearly uncomfortable. Castiel takes the armchair placed at a right angle to the couch and takes a deep breath. Dean sits stiffly, hands balled into fists, and Castiel almost expects him to start fidgeting.

Finally, he breaks. “Cas, let me explain.”

“Explain,” Castiel says, and he takes small comfort in the fact that his voice doesn’t shake at all.

Dean licks his lips and then exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. At length, he says, “I figure I don’t have to tell you what my job was when I was working for Crowley.”

“No, you don’t,” Castiel says. He may not know all of the ‘pies’ that Crowley has his fingers in, but he does know that Crowley runs a lucrative escort service, knows this because he’s heard about it before—alpha escorts truly are rare. Novelties, in fact.

Dean nods, resigned. “The day before we met, Balthazar interviewed me for—for you,” he says.

Castiel closes his eyes, forcing down the dull ache in his chest. He’s known the truth since Crowley left their table, but part of him must have been holding out hope, hope that Crowley was lying, or that this was all part of some really, _really_ unfunny joke.

“I wasn’t gonna take the job,” Dean says. “But I uh, shit. This is gonna sound so bad.”

“It already sounds bad, Dean.”

“I only considered it because of the money,” he says. “I didn’t agree to it right away—told him that we had to meet first.”

“So he told you where I would be meeting Alfie and Inias, so that you could orchestrate our first meeting,” Castiel concludes. “And then what? You decided that I wasn’t utterly repulsive, so you accepted the _job_ and took the money, was that it?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean says immediately, and Castiel actually opens his eyes to look over at him, startled, but then Dean admits, “Okay, yes. But—Cas, it wasn’t like that, not completely. I—damn it, you remember what I told you about Sam, right? Well, I left some stuff out. Sam’s in rehab, but before going into rehab, he was also a dealer. I don’t know everything that happened, but shit went south, and the end result is that he owes a shitload of money to a dangerous crowd, so—”

“You and I— _none_ of this was real,” Castiel interrupts, because this has gone on long enough. “Why should I believe that anything you said about Sam—about anyone—was real?”

Dean looks pained, so Castiel turns his gaze away. Still, that doesn’t stop him from hearing the way Dean’s voice shakes a little as he says, “Cas, I—I didn’t lie to you about him. I couldn’t have.”

“Yet you could lie about the fact that you were fucking _hired_ to _mate_ me,” Castiel says bitterly.

The room goes quiet for what feels like an eternity after that, likely because Dean is speechless—as he _should_ be, given what he’s done. Castiel’s chest is tight, his eyes burning, and all he wants is for Dean to walk out of his life for good.

At least, that’s what he _should_ want. In reality, Castiel finds himself wishing that he’d chosen a different restaurant, or that he’d decided to just stay at home and cook, tonight. He wishes that they hadn’t run into Crowley, wishes that the truth hadn’t come out, because he’d been so _happy_ , earlier today. The thought of Dean doing something as nefarious as this was _laughable_.

But there is no way to turn back time. Castiel’s world has tilted, veered wildly off course, and he needs to readjust accordingly.

This mating is a sham, and though Castiel cannot accept it permanently, it is the only thing keeping him from losing the Sacre Corporation nine days from now, when he turns thirty. He’d been mentally prepared to lose it all in the past, but that was before he met Dean. And now that he has spent two weeks secure in the knowledge that he’d be able to keep his livelihood, his father’s legacy, it is unbearably painful to imagine giving it up without at least _trying_ to hold onto it.

The truth is only known at present by four people—five, including Rachel. To secure his inheritance, then, there is only one thing left for Castiel to do.

**LUST**

When Cas gets to his feet, Dean expects to be shown out of the house, so when he’s dragged to his feet roughly by his lapels, he’s more than slightly startled. But before he can say anything, a mouth crashes into his, which—what the _fuck?_

Dean shoves Cas away, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“You’re getting paid for it, aren’t you?” Cas says spitefully, reaching out again.

Dean moves to the side, trying to put some distance between them, because he doesn’t understand what’s happening here. “Cas—what is this?” he asks, catching Cas’s wrists to hold them still. “Are we—is this breakup sex?”

“No,” Cas says evenly. “This is me doing what I have to so that we can go our separate ways as soon as possible.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This union may be a fraud, but we’re already recognized legally as mates. There’s no reason for me not to take advantage of that to preserve my inheritance, since staying your mate is out of the question.”

Dean still doesn’t get what Cas is saying—how can he take advantage of their relationship if he’s getting ready to end it?

“If I have an heir,” Cas says impatiently, shaking Dean’s hands off and starting to take off his own jacket, “I’ll be able to create a will and leave everything to him—or her. Then, as sole guardian, I would retain control over the company. It’s unorthodox, but then, so is hiring an escort as a mate.”

“Wait,” Dean says, because Cas is going too fast. “Wait, you—you want to have a baby.”

“Yes,” Cas says, without hesitation, as though having a baby was just the next _logical_ leap after he found out that their relationship was a setup. Fucking hell.

“Cas, I don’t—I don’t think I can do that.”

Cas levels him with an unimpressed look and says, “I can attest to the functionality of your reproductive organs, Dean.”

“Cas—”

“You will have no legal obligations to take care of the child—in fact, after the split, I don’t want you to come near me or the baby,” Cas says.

“Shit, are you fucking serious?”

“My brother paid you to provide a service. You accepted the money, and while the mating has been done, it is going to be undone,” Cas says, and the certainty in his voice makes Dean’s chest clench. “The desired result of your employment was the preservation of our empire, so I don’t think it’s outside of your _job_ to give me an heir.”

“Jesus Christ. Cas, do you even hear yourself right now? This is—beyond insane. You can’t just—”

“Actually, I can,” Cas says, and whoa, when did Cas strip down to just his underwear?

Fuck, Dean needs to get out of here, needs to run for it. He doesn’t want this. At least, not like this. God, he’d entertained notions of them growing old together, having kids and watching them grow up, but this is the last thing he’d ever want.

“Dean, if you don’t do this, I will ask you to return the money.”

And yeah, that’s not gonna happen, because Dean already used a portion of it to pay off his debt to Silver Reflections. The rest of it—the majority of it, really—was funneled off to Lilith, because the longer it takes him to pay her back, the more interest builds up, and Lilith’s vindictive with that shit.

“I don’t—Cas, do you seriously think I can get it up right now?” Dean says, because he’s got nothing else to argue with. He doesn’t have the money to give back to Cas, and besides, he doesn’t want to see Cas lose everything, not after getting to know and care about him.

But this—this would be his baby, too, except Cas has already said that he doesn’t want Dean to have any contact with it.

“You were an escort,” Cas says. “I’m sure you had to get yourself hard for your other clients. And you did fine all the times before.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“There are also a number of drugs available for people with erectile dysfunction, if you’d prefer that,” Cas says, and Dean _hates_ how detached he sounds about all this.

“Cas—”

“I’m done talking about this, Dean. Should I make a run to the drugstore or not?”

Dean has no idea how to respond to that. He doesn’t think he could possibly get hard right now, doesn’t _want_ to. But this shitfest isn’t on Cas—it’s on Dean. It’s not Cas’s fault that Dean agreed to take the job, not Cas’s fault that Balthazar offered it in the first place.

Cas is just… making a judgment call, probably the same way he makes decisions about the company—if that’s true, it definitely explains the fact that Dean can hardly pick up any of Cas’s scent at all, beyond the fading fury and betrayal that filled the room earlier. He knows people can be trained to compartmentalize their emotions, control what scents they project—after all, Dean had to learn a little of that himself in order to smooth things out with clients.

Then Cas is reaching up, pushing Dean’s jacket off his shoulders.

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but he’s got nothing to say. His eyes fall on the collar, still resting snugly around the base of Cas’s neck, and all Dean can think about are the promises he made to himself to do right by Cas, to be what he needs.

He doesn’t know whether or not this is right, whether or not it’s what Cas needs, but it’s what he’s asking for.

“Cas, you sure about this?”

Cas nods, removing Dean’s tie and starting to unbutton his shirt. There’s something mechanical in his actions, and Dean can’t just pretend everything’s fine, not when he can see how stiff Cas is. So he closes his eyes, tells himself that this is just a job—that it was _always_ just a job, no matter what it might have started to feel like.

It doesn’t make it any easier, doesn’t make it hurt less, but at least it’ll get him through this.

**LUST**

Dean really doesn’t know how he makes it through the hour or so that he spends at Cas’s place, working himself up and then doing his best to… to meet Cas’s needs, so to say. As soon as his knot goes down and they can separate, Dean goes into the bathroom to clean himself off quickly, perfunctorily, before getting dressed and making a break for it. Cas says something about calling Dean to let him know whether or not it took, and god, how did this happen to him, to them?

He can’t bear to go home to his apartment, because he coaxed Cas into spending a couple nights there when Cas confessed that he didn’t really understand all the fuss about memory foam mattresses.

Cas’s scent has probably faded by now, but Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk into that place without seeing echoes of Cas everywhere—peeking around the corner as Dean made him breakfast, pulling Dean away from the stove for one kiss that led to a second and a third and eventually ended with Dean bending Cas over the nearest countertop and rutting into him until they were tied together.

Fuck, just the memory of it has him shaking, because it was so different from what just happened between them, clinical and detached and sick-wrong. Dean feels _dirty_ , like he used Cas and was used by Cas, and shit, this probably won’t even be the last time, because Cas only stopped taking his heat meds two weeks ago, after they went and registered as mates, and the last of them might not be out of his system for another couple of days or so.

Dean pulls the Impala over, and he doesn’t even realize where he’s parked until he looks out the window and sees Benny’s building across the street. He hadn’t meant to come here, but it sure as hell beats going home to his own apartment.

When Benny opens the door, he looks surprised. “Dean?”

Dean just pushes past him and into the foyer, grateful that Benny isn’t working tonight. Or—aw shit, there’s a woman in the living room, sitting down on the couch with a glass of wine in hand.

“Hello,” she says, looking up at Dean in confusion.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean blurts out, because crap, Benny _is_ working. As Benny comes into the living room, Dean starts backing out, saying, “I didn’t know you were with a client.”

“Not a client,” Benny says, a little stiffly, and god, this is an actual honest-to-god _date_ , and what if she didn’t know about Benny’s job?

“I’m a fucking disaster,” Dean says, looking between Benny and his date. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she says, setting the glass of wine down on the antique coffee table before getting to her feet. “I already know what Benny does for a living.”

“Still, sorry. I should—go.”

“No, don’t,” she responds, starting toward Benny. “You look like you need to talk.”

Dean would try and be courteous, get out of here before he makes an even bigger ass of himself, but he really doesn’t have it in him. “Yeah,” he admits. And then, because he can’t seem to stop, he repeats, “Sorry.”

The woman presses a quick kiss to Benny’s cheek before pulling back and saying, “I can see myself out. Thank you for dinner.”

Benny just nods, smiling warmly, and less than a minute later, the front door opens and closes, and Dean and Benny are left alone.

“The hell happened to you, brother? You look like a wreck.”

“That’s because I _am_ a wreck,” Dean says. “I fucked up. Everything’s fucked up.”

“I take it Cas found out,” Benny says, gesturing toward the couch

Dean walks over and sits. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Crowley saw us at dinner tonight.”

“Shit, that’s rough.”

“You’re telling me,” Dean says. “He didn’t say it outright, but he might as well have.”

Benny grimaces as he sits down next to Dean. “Talk to me,” he says, and Dean wants to, except he has no clue what to say.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about,” Dean admits.

“Well, we got all night for you to find your words. You want something to drink?”

“Please,” Dean says, and Benny gets to his feet and walks over to his liquor cabinet. “Sorry about ruining your date,” Dean adds, belatedly.

“It wasn’t ruined,” Benny says. “She’ll be all right, and so will I. You, on the other hand… well.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna be all right for a long time,” Dean agrees.

Benny returns to the couch with two glass tumblers in one hand, the bottle in the other. He sets the tumblers down and pours two drinks, nudging Dean’s toward him. “Take your time, brother.”

“Thanks, man.”

**LUST**

Sam is quiet, today.

Kevin hasn’t seen him since they were last in this room on Tuesday, because Marv sent him out for a couple outpatient checkups over in the next county, and he didn’t get back until today. Garth kept an eye on Kevin’s patients in the interim. He didn’t have authorization to hold private sessions with them, but he assured Kevin that Sam looked just fine.

Kevin doesn’t know whether or not he believes it. Oh, he believes that Garth thinks Sam is fine, but he just doesn’t know whether or not to trust Garth’s judgment on it. On the one hand, having an outsider’s point-of-view, fresh, might make it easier for Garth to see clearly. On the other, it’s entirely possible that Garth’s lack of knowledge about Sam makes him unable to see through the walls that he hides behind.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though, because now Kevin is back and can make his own decision regarding Sam’s state of mind.

Only—Sam’s refusing to talk, and it feels like it’s almost worse than it was before he opened up about Ruby. Kevin figures it’s only natural for Sam to try to hide after exposing something that he’d wanted to keep hidden for so long, no matter whether or not Kevin judges him for it.

Still, knowing the logic behind Sam’s reticence doesn’t make it less trying to deal with, and Kevin just wishes that Sam could trust him. But after Ruby, he isn’t sure whether or not Sam will ever be able to trust anyone so completely again.

“Sam, is there anything you’d like to talk about today?” Kevin asks.

“Not really, no,” Sam says.

Kevin inhales slowly, deeply, trying to get a read on what Sam might be feeling right now, but all he can tell is that something feels off. It’s subtle, something spicy about his scent that makes Kevin’s nose itch, and Kevin can’t put his finger on what it might mean.

“Tell me what you did for the past couple of days. How are the roses doing?”

“They’re fine,” Sam says. “It’s not as though roses are hard to look after. Just a couple o’ bushes.” It’s quiet for a moment, and then Sam says, “I can’t stop thinking about it. And when I’m not thinking about it, I’m dreaming about it.”

“What do you mean by ‘it,’ Sam?”

“Everything. Ruby, the drugs, the addiction, the dealing, all of it. Just last night, I dreamed that we were sitting here, talking, and Ruby just walked in, because she’d gotten you to work with her. Or maybe because you were working with her the whole time, just waiting for me to crack, or something. I don’t know anymore.”

“Is this something that’s happened in past dreams before?” Kevin asks, because if Sam has somehow linked Kevin with Ruby, it might explain his reluctance to talk to him about her.

“What, you and Ruby working together?”

“Just me and Ruby, in the same place and time,” Kevin clarifies.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “There was—were—a couple times when you uh, turned into her.”

“And how did you react, when that transition happened?”

“Different ways,” Sam answers. “Usually I tried to kill her. Sometimes she turned back into you, after she died. Sometimes I regretted it; other times I didn’t.”

Kevin supposes he shouldn’t be _that_ surprised that Sam would associate him with Ruby eventually. She did a number on him, got into his head and his heart, took his trust and ran away with it, and now Kevin is here, trying his best to worm his own way into Sam’s head, get some insight on what’s going on.

Then Sam gets to his feet, and Kevin frowns, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Sam?” he says as his patient turns around and approaches him.

The unfamiliar note in Sam’s scent gets stronger as he draws near, but Kevin can’t decide what it is—he knows what Sam smells like when he’s angry, when he’s sad, scared, even happy. It worries him that he can’t identify this scent.

Sam leans down when he’s close enough, braces his hands on the armrests on either side of Kevin, and sniffs carefully. “You’re not afraid,” he says, squinting a little, and Kevin wonders if the mysterious scent that’s been raising a red flag is paranoia.

But Sam’s hazel-green eyes are clear, no sign of confusion in them.

Abruptly, Sam’s hand flies up, fingers wrapping around Kevin’s throat and pressing him hard against the chair back, and Kevin inhales sharply, hands coming up to pull at Sam’s arm.

“Sam—” he manages to choke out before Sam tightens his grip, cutting off Kevin’s windpipe.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Sam demands, and there’s something helpless about the anger in his eyes, his entire frame trembling with it.

Kevin can’t breathe, but he knows Sam wouldn’t kill him. He leaves one hand on Sam’s wrist, but he brings the other up to Sam’s cheek, watching as Sam flinches at the contact. His jaw clenches under Kevin’s fingers, and he squeezes harder. Kevin kicks out instinctively, trying to draw breath.

“I could _kill_ you,” Sam says, voice low, but not two seconds later, he releases Kevin’s neck and takes a step back, letting his hand fall to his side, fingers twitching minutely.

Kevin gasps for air, one hand coming up to touch his neck gingerly. Sam just watches him, something resigned about the slant of his shoulders, and Kevin thinks he might understand.

“You don’t want to kill me, though,” Kevin says.

“You don’t know that,” Sam answers.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Maybe I was just working up to it—maybe next time I won’t.”

“Next time?” Kevin says, watching Sam curiously. “I don’t think there will be a next time.”

“Why not?”

“You’re testing me,” Kevin replies. “Whatever you decide today, I doubt you’ll need to repeat it.”

Sam’s expression sours. “What makes you think I was just testing you?”

“Weren’t you?” He almost expects Sam to deny it, so he’s a little caught off guard when Sam exhales noisily and nods. “What have you decided, then?” Kevin asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam says quietly.

Though he doesn’t move physically, Kevin can see him retreating. Hiding. And god, Kevin can’t have that, not after Sam’s finally started opening up. So he pushes up out of his chair and takes a few steps toward Sam, who backs up, eyes wary.

“Sam, do you trust me?”

“It’s been two years,” Sam says. “Ruby didn’t show her face in all this time, so what is she doing here, now? How’d she even find me?”

Kevin takes another step closer to Sam, watching carefully for Sam’s reaction. “I don’t know, Sam. But I assume from what you’ve told me about her that she could have found you if she really wanted to. Why do you think she was here?”

Sam’s jaw clenches. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Looking his patient in the eye, Kevin says, “Sam… you don’t really think that I invited Ruby here, do you?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking a lot of things, right now. You said you were looking into my past, Kevin.”

“I was,” Kevin concedes. “But I didn’t find anything on Ruby.”

It’s not a lie—Jody called him a few days ago to tell him that her contact in California hadn’t come up with anything, but Kevin had told her that he didn’t need the information anymore—Sam had opened up about her, so Kevin hadn’t needed to extend his search.

“I would never hurt you,” Kevin says, reaching up toward Sam’s face.

But Sam’s hand wraps around his wrist, holding it still before it can reach him. Kevin lets his eyes fall closed and inhales slowly. More than anything else, Sam smells frightened right now, the scent of it sharp and unpleasant in Kevin’s nose, but under that thick layer of fear is something sweeter, warmer, and Kevin thinks he knows what it is, recognizes it in himself.

They’ve been circling around each other, gradually moving closer and closer to this point, inevitable.

One of them has to take the first step.

Following his nose, Kevin takes that step, reaches up with both hands, and Sam’s hand just falls away—he must know that he can’t stop this, that this was always going to happen. Kevin leans up and kisses him softly, lips only barely touching. It feels good, better than Kevin had expected, but he refrains from pressing in closer, mindful of the stiffness in Sam’s frame, the fear that still lingers in the air around them.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” Kevin whispers, eyes still closed as he pulls Sam down a little more, presses their foreheads together.

“I wish I could believe you,” Sam says, barely audible, and Kevin wonders whether or not he was even supposed to hear that.

But Sam doesn’t push Kevin away, and maybe that’s enough, for now.

**LUST**

Kevin is insane. That’s the only explanation for it, for the way Kevin is holding onto him, standing so close to him, breathing in time with him.

There’s something about this, about having him so near, that soothes the raw ache in Sam’s chest. It’s familiar, terrifying in its familiarity, and Sam wonders how screwed in the head he is, that he’s associating this feeling with Ruby as much as Kevin. Their scents are nothing alike—in this moment, Kevin is all warm tones and roasted almonds and earth, and Ruby… Ruby had smelled like fine plum wine, rich and sweet and inviting, tempting.

He inhales now, and he doesn’t scent anything in the room that even _remotely_ smells like Ruby, yet it feels like she’s right here, in his arms, and he loves her, hates her. Loves Kevin, hates Kevin.

Kevin thinks that there’s nothing to be afraid of, or at least, he wants Sam to think that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but there’s… god, they have every reason to be afraid. If anyone walked in right now and saw them, the way that they are, Kevin could lose his license.

Worse, maybe one day Sam will snap and lose sight of the distinction between Ruby and Kevin, and then there’ll be two Winchesters sentenced to life for first degree murder.

“Kevin, you’ve gotta refer me to someone else. I can’t—we can’t—this is bad.”

“No,” Kevin responds. “I can’t just give you up.”

“There are rules against consorting with patients, aren’t there? I mean, your job, your reputation—”

“I’m not gonna lie and say that that stuff isn’t important to me, but Sam, you… you are no less important. Do you get that?” Kevin pauses, pulls back a little, and Sam sees the bruises already starting to form around his neck, fuck. “I don’t know what this is, what it can be, but we need to let it breathe, let it grow. You feel it too, don’t you? There is no way that suppressing this will be good, for either of us. I think I already let it go unacknowledged for too long, as it is.”

“Is that the doctor talking, or just you?” Sam asks.

“Both,” Kevin replies. “Sam, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time—I didn’t just randomly decide that you looked especially kissable today. I know what’s at stake, and I’m not scared.”

Sam touches Kevin’s neck, fingertips barely grazing the marks, and says, “How can you not be scared? I was throttling you just two minutes ago.”

Kevin catches Sam’s hand in his, warm and reassuring. “You don’t scare me, Sam,” he says, threading their fingers together, and Sam learns that Kevin’s fingers are thinner than his, taper off more delicately. But his hand is larger than the average omega’s, firm and steady. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I just did,” Sam says, incredulous. “Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe _you_ need therapy, too?”

Kevin chuckles. “Yeah, that’s crossed my mind before,” he says, like it’s a joke, but it’s _not_. Then his eyes turn serious, and he says, “Sam, I trust you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Guess I’ll just have to convince you, then,” Kevin says, determined.

“Guess so,” Sam says reluctantly.

He chooses not to resist when Kevin kisses him again, a barely-there touch of lips to lips. Then Kevin is letting him go, taking a step back. Sam thanks him for the session, almost numb, and makes a break for it as soon as Kevin says he can go.

Sam’s gotta leave this facility—it’s the only way Kevin can get out of this intact. Sam feels stable, has been clean almost two years, and as long as he doesn’t see Ruby again, he doesn’t think he’ll lose control. If he stays holed up in Dean’s apartment, he’ll be fine.

He resolves to discuss it with Dean the next time he visits. It’ll be a load off Dean’s back, anyway. This’ll be best for everyone involved.

**LUST**

It’s the third day since Castiel learned the truth about his relationship with Dean, and he feels… surprisingly okay. Not for the first time, he is immensely grateful for his experience with compartmentalizing his feelings. He has boxed away anything to do with Dean, and it allows him to get through the days.

He has spent almost all of his time at the office, but no one has said anything yet, not even Rachel. Alfie did come in this morning looking worried, but Castiel had dispatched him to the Pharm again, this time to pull the shipping invoices himself, or at least to supervise while the worker bees put together the reports.

The Pharm has always done well, but performance has been suspiciously good of late. Lucifer attributes it to all the dietary supplements taking off, what with the recent health craze that’s been going around the nation. It is a plausible explanation, but Castiel still wants to be sure that no one is fudging numbers. Castiel hasn’t solved the mystery of the unfamiliar item numbers on the Pharm’s invoices—he needs to get to the bottom of them before he can rest assured that the Pharm is doing well on its own steam.

A knock on the door makes Castiel’s head snap up, and he says, “Come in.”

“Cas,” Balthazar says as he enters the room. “It’s past eight o’clock on a Friday evening. What the hell are you doing, still in the office?”

“I set my own hours.”

“Hannah says she hasn’t seen you eat a thing all day today.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Castiel says. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yes, I think we’ve all noticed how busy you’ve been lately,” Balthazar says. “Busy enough that you’re starting to do our jobs for us. Cas, you’re thorough, but this is going a bit far, even for you.”

“Are you really going to pretend that you don’t know what’s wrong?” Castiel asks sharply.

Balthazar holds his gaze for a long moment, but at length he falters, just as Castiel knew he would. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. “How did you find out?”

“Does that matter?” Castiel asks.

“No, I guess not,” Balthazar concedes. “When?”

“Tuesday night.”

Balthazar’s brow furrows with confusion. “And you’re just bringing it up now?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up at all,” Castiel replies evenly. Talking about this with Balthazar comes too close to that carefully locked box in the back of Castiel’s mind, and that’s—not what he needs right now. His skin feels itchy just thinking about it, and it’s vexing, infuriating. He has never had an intense physical reaction to his thoughts. Dean has no fucking right to influence Castiel so strongly.

“You’re still wearing his collar,” Balthazar says, and maybe it’s not phrased as a question, but Castiel hears it anyway.

“It’s temporary,” Castiel says. “I don’t want any of us to go to jail for fraud.”

“Ah.” After a pause, Balthazar asks, “What’ll you do now, then?”

“I feel no obligation to share my plans with you, especially after what you did to me,” Castiel says.

“Cas, I’m sorry for tricking you. But I’m not sorry for setting you up with Dean—we need you to have a mate, in order to keep our father’s hard work from falling into the wrong hands. He never wanted Michael and Lucifer to take it. You know that.”

“I already know why you did it—you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“So… what will you do? Wait until it’s been a reasonable amount of time and then separate from him?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, because the room has gotten hotter—Hannah might have set the thermostat too high again. “No. I want to wash my hands of this as soon as possible,” he says to his brother.

“You’re preparing to let everything go to those knotheads, then. Is that it?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re pissed off at me, and it might lead you to do something that you’ll regret,” Balthazar says.

“I _am_ angry with you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my head,” Castiel says.

“So you do intend to keep the company,” Balthazar deduces, clearly relieved. Then he frowns and asks, “But how will you do it? I doubt you’re willing to stay with Dean, now that you know everything.”

“I’m not staying with him,” Castiel responds, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it up on his desk, irritated. Balthazar is the only one here anyway, so it doesn’t matter that he loosens his tie, undoes the first few buttons of his shirt. It’s so hot, and Castiel doesn’t understand how Balthazar isn’t sweating under all those layers he’s wearing.

“Cas…” Balthazar says hesitantly, “what are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” Castiel answers, irate, and Balthazar raises his eyebrows. “You don’t need to know how I intend to keep my position. All I want from you is a promise that you will never do this again.”

“It’s not as though you’ll be turning thirty again,” Balthazar says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not talking about this specifically,” Castiel says. His wrists itch, like they’re about to start sweating, and he fumbles with the cuffs of his sleeves, intending to unbutton them so that he can roll his sleeves up and bare his forearms.

Balthazar sniffs carefully then and says, “Cas, how long has it been since you came off your heat meds?”

It takes a moment for the question to sink in, and suddenly Castiel’s discomfort makes sense.

“Take me home,” Castiel says.

“All right,” Balthazar replies, only a little hesitantly.

Castiel grabs his jacket and drapes it over his arm before following Balthazar to the door. They leave the building quickly, the halls mostly empty at this time of day—or night, rather.

Inside Balthazar’s car—one that Castiel doesn’t recognize, which implies that Balthazar may have bought himself a new car after all—Castiel takes out his cell phone and sends a text to Dean, telling him to come to the house. If Castiel is going into heat, it’d be best to take advantage. Chances of conception are far higher during heat, especially for a male omega.

“Cas, will you be all right? Do you need me to get you anything?” Balthazar asks when they’re near Castiel’s house.

“I will be perfectly fine,” Castiel responds tightly—his skin is prickling, and he feels edgy, hot.

“It’s been years since you last went through a heat.”

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel reiterates, doing his best not to squirm. “After all, I have a _mate_ , don’t I?”

Balthazar is silent for a beat. “You want a legally recognized heir,” he concludes, voice soft, and Castiel supposes it can’t hurt that Balthazar guessed his intentions. He’d have to find out about the baby, sooner or later. “Castiel, a pregnancy is no joke. Is this honestly what you want?”

Castiel almost laughs. “I think you know this is the last thing I _want_. You took my wants out of the equation when you went behind my back and _hired_ a mate for me,” he snaps.

It’s quiet for a long moment, and then Balthazar pulls up in front of the house. “I’m sorry,” he says, but Castiel is already pushing the door open, lunging out of the car. He needs to be moving, needs to get into the house.

He doesn’t hear the car drive away, but he’s certain Balthazar won’t stick around for this.

As soon as Castiel is inside the door, he kicks off his shoes and whips off his tie. He fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, desperate to be bare, the cloth too irritating to his oversensitive skin. By the time he gets the shirt off, he’s wet, and maybe he should have taken his pants off first. But they’re the next to go, followed immediately by his briefs, and Castiel is just grateful that Balthazar came to his office when he did—with the way Castiel feels right this moment, he has no doubt that he would have called Dean to his office to fuck him.

Castiel stays in the hallway, bracing one hand against the wall and reaching behind himself with the other, fingers swiping through the wetness between his cheeks. He presses two fingers inside himself, thighs trembling as he grunts at the relief of having _something_.

But the respite doesn’t last long, and Castiel lets his forehead hit the wall with a dull thud, pushing a third finger inside and praying for Dean to hurry his ass up.

It seems like an eternity passes before the doorbell rings, and Castiel instantly yanks the door open.

“Cas, what—” Dean starts.

But before he can get any farther, his voice cuts off, body moving practically on autopilot because it must recognize that its omega is in heat, ripe for the taking. Dean pushes his way into the house, kicking the door closed behind him and crowding Castiel up against the wall, hands grabbing at Castiel’s shoulders, his sides, back, ass.

“You’re wasting time,” Castiel hisses, shoving Dean’s hands out of the way so that he can get at Dean’s belt buckle. It doesn’t matter whether Dean is fully undressed—all Castiel needs right now is to be fucked. To be _bred_ , really, and he’d never thought that that could be arousing, but yes, _yes_ , he wants to be caught on Dean’s knot, wants to be filled, over and over, until they can be sure that he’s carrying Dean’s pup.

“Fuck,” Dean groans. “This—this isn’t a good idea,” he gets out, even as Castiel shoves his jeans and underwear down over his hips.

Castiel massages the base of Dean’s cock, mouth watering at the subtle bulge he can already feel, Dean’s knot already priming for what’s to come.

“Cas—” Dean tries, but Castiel doesn’t _want_ to talk.

So he reaches up with his other hand and drags Dean’s head down, presses their lips together.

It’s wrong how good this still feels, how perfect Dean is for him. Now that the truth is out, Castiel almost thinks that this should be different, soured. Then again, his heat is doing a lot to smooth things over. But if this is what it takes to get him his heir, so be it.

Slick is dripping down Castiel’s inner thighs, so he swipes his free hand through it and grasps Dean’s dick, jacking it a few times. Dean breaks the kiss to drag his mouth along Castiel’s jaw, down his neck, but then he stiffens, stops rolling his hips into Castiel’s hand.

“Dean, what—” Castiel starts, irritated, but then he realizes that Dean has frozen with his lips pressed to the collar, and Castiel just—can’t handle this right now. “I _need_ you to fuck me,” he grits out.

Dean swallows hard, the sound audible when he’s so close to Castiel. “Fuck,” he says, sounding angry about it, and then he pulls his head back, stepping in closer and hitching Castiel’s legs up around his waist. Castiel’s hands automatically go to Dean’s shoulders, steadying himself, and then he reaches down, guides Dean’s cock to his rim.

“Oh,” he breathes, head falling back as Dean pushes in. “Oh, yes. More.”

It’s sweet, sweet relief, but it isn’t enough, and Castiel pulls with his legs, ankles crossed behind Dean’s back. Dean gives it to him, pulls out and fucks back in harder, deeper, and Castiel lets his thoughts go, lets himself just _be_.

But of course Dean has to ruin it—between thrusts, he starts _talking_.

“Why the fuck—are you still—wearing—that?” he grunts.

Castiel keeps his eyes squeezed shut. “Wearing what?” he gasps, even though he knows exactly what his mate is talking about. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. He clenches down around the thick, hard length inside him, and Dean groans.

“Collar,” Dean gasps, nudging Castiel’s forehead.

He doesn’t mean to, but Castiel opens his eyes and sees that Dean is—his eyes look _watery_ , like he might _cry_. What the fuck?

“Put me down,” Castiel forces out, biting back a whine of displeasure as Dean slips out of him. He turns around to face the wall and then reaches back for Dean, because he can’t anymore. They can’t do this face to face, not if Dean’s going to be emotional about it.

“Fuck,” Dean repeats, but he’s sliding back in, and that’s all that matters.

Castiel pushes back into Dean’s thrusts, clenches around him, works him as well as he knows how because he wants that knot to swell up inside him, fat and hot and plugging him up so perfectly, but he also wants this to be over, wants Dean out of his house, where he can’t get into his head.

Then Dean grasps Castiel by the hips and starts _really_ going for it, hard and fast, almost _vicious_ in his motions, and all Castiel can do is brace himself against the wall and cry out with it, strings of _yes-alpha-yes-Dean-please_ falling hoarsely, shamelessly, from his lips.

It doesn’t take long for Dean’s knot to start tugging at Castiel’s rim with each thrust, and when it finally catches, Castiel comes hard enough that his legs actually give out. Dean goes to the ground with him, gathering Castiel up in his lap because they’re tied together.

Castiel lets his mind go blank, floating high on the rush of release. But soon enough he returns to reality, and what he finds is that Dean’s lips are pressed against the back of his neck—against the collar.

Guilt twists Castiel’s gut, and he balks, bristles at it. How _dare_ Dean make Castiel feel bad about the situation that they’re in? It’s not his fault in the least—they are in this because of Dean and Balthazar, so Dean has no goddamn right to make Castiel feel guilty. Yet Castiel cannot dispel the part of him that wants to take responsibility, that wants to beg his alpha for forgiveness.

Castiel doesn’t know which he hates more—his own biology for trying to convince him that he is in the wrong, or Dean for putting him in a position where he must struggle against his instincts, his body.

Dean presses another kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck, just above the collar, and Castiel stiffens up, wanting to pull away. The motion has him shifting around Dean’s knot, and behind him, Dean groans, pulsing hard and hot as he pumps another batch of come into Castiel.

“I think I hate you,” Castiel breathes, barely audible even to himself.

“I know,” Dean says, resigned. “Me too.”

They remain silent after that for as long as it takes Dean’s knot to go down.

When they’ve separated, Castiel climbs up the stairs to use his own bathroom, giving Dean leave to get cleaned up downstairs. He manages to hold himself together until he’s inside the shower, sure that Dean has no chance of hearing him.

Leaning back against the tiles, Castiel slides down to the floor and cries like he hasn’t since he was a boy.


	7. Pyres of Varanasi

_A quiet desperation's building higher;_

_I've got to remember this is just a game._

* * *

_“I can’t do this anymore.”_

_Dean looks up at his girlfriend of almost two years and frowns. “Do what?”_

_“This,” Lisa says, shrugging expansively._

_Dean looks around at the restaurant—they usually don’t eat at high-end places, but Dean had been thinking about proposing to her tonight, so he’d suggested a nice restaurant, outside of his normal price range, to surprise her. Was that the wrong decision?_

_“I don’t get it. What do you mean?” Dean asks._

_Setting down her fork, Lisa sighs and says, “I’m breaking up with you.”_

_“What? Why?” Dean says reflexively. Internally, he may have frozen up a little—how did he not see this coming? How long has this been brewing?_

_“I’m just—I need more than this, Dean,” Lisa says. Dean is about to bring up his proposal right then, but she continues, “I thought you were gonna go back to school and become an engineer, but it’s been two years, and you haven’t done anything. You’re not going anywhere in life.”_

_“I thought we discussed this already,” Dean says. “You agreed that it was my choice whether or not I went back to school.”_

_“It_ is _your choice.”_

_“So you should respect my decision.”_

_“And I do,” Lisa says. “But I don’t think I can live with it.”_

_“I’m happy with what I have,” Dean says._

_“Yeah, and that is exactly the problem,” Lisa says. “I’m sorry, Dean. I need to move on.”_

_With that, she gets right up, sets her napkin down, and marches out of the restaurant. Dean is left alone at the fancy table, the ring sitting heavily in his pocket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel that hurt at her departure. Maybe he’s still in shock. Or maybe part of him_ did _see that coming, and he just wasn’t actively aware of it._

_It’s probably better this way. Dean has never really_ wanted _to mate before, but it felt like he and Lisa had been together long enough that he should’ve popped the question already, and they’d always gotten along well. Dean definitely doesn’t think he would mind spending the rest of his life with her._

_But yeah, she deserves better than someone who “wouldn’t mind”—she deserves to be with someone who actually wants it. Not Dean._

_Maybe he’ll never find a mate. The thought doesn’t scare him, not like it used to when he was younger._

_Dean has always been a lone wolf type of guy. It was a product of their upbringing, he guesses, since they moved around so often. Dad was always on the move, on the hunt for Mom’s killer, and Sam and Dean had constantly been the new kids in town, never sticking around in one place for longer than a month at a time._

_Sam seems to have turned out all right, though. Dean hasn’t seen him in over three years, but he’s gotten updates over the years. Sam is with some girl named Ruby who apparently makes him really happy. He’s also graduated from Stanford Law, and though Sam doesn’t really talk about it, Dean figures he’s got some hotshot job out there in California._

_Dean has suggested visiting in the past, but Sam has turned him down enough times that he’s got the hint. Sam was always more resentful toward Dad about the life they led, and seeing Dean would probably only remind him of the old days._

_As Dean pushes his plate away, a man slides into the vacant seat across from him. “Hello,” he says._

_“Uh, hello?” Dean responds, bemused. The man doesn’t look drunk, and Dean has never seen him before, so what is he doing at Dean’s table?_

_“My name is Crowley,” the man says with a smile. “Are you interested in making some big money?”_

_“I’m fine, thanks,” Dean answers._

_“Well, it’s just that I have been observing your manners—apologies—but I like the way you carry yourself,” Crowley says anyway, and that’s—weird. It only gets worse when Crowley goes on to say, “I run a company for escorts catering to a specific clientele.”_

_“Escorts?” Dean says, brows raised. “So whores.”_

_“I wouldn’t use that term,” Crowley says._

_“No, thanks.”_

_“I can give you five thousand dollars on the spot, if you’ll just consider it,” Crowley says. It’s surprising how earnest he sounds._

_“No,” Dean says firmly. “Get lost.”_

_“All right, then,” Crowley says, standing. “It was nice talking to you.”_

_Dean just smiles and waits for the guy to leave. It’s only after he’s left the table that Dean realizes he couldn’t scent him, couldn’t tell whether he was alpha, beta, or omega._

_The waiter arrives at the table a minute later, and Dean says, “I’m done. Could you bring me the check?”_

_“No need,” the waiter says. “Your bill has already been taken care of.”_

_“What?”_

_“Your friend paid it off,” the waiter says, setting a business card down on the table in front of Dean._

_“Oh,” Dean says, lifting up the card._

_It says “Crowley” in all capital letters, with a phone number and an email address underneath. No physical address. When he flips it over, he finds a message written in elegant longhand: “If you ever change your mind.”_

_Yeah, not fucking likely._

_But Dean smiles up at the waiter, thanks him, and pockets the business card before getting up to leave._

**LUST**

_The cold is the first thing Sam notices when he wakes up. Ruby is very sensitive to cold, so she usually crawls on top of Sam, and their body heat combined, trapped under the covers, is enough to make Sam’s skin itch sometimes, like he’s about to start sweating._

_She’s not here, today. Odd. They have to transport the goods this morning, to be cut and bagged. Ruby should be here—she always makes sure to come along for that._

_Sam sits up slowly, groggily, and looks around the bedroom. It looks the same as always—a little messy, some clothes strewn about here and there, the closet door hanging open._

_“Ruby?” Sam says, voice hoarse._

_Maybe she’s in the other room, making breakfast for a change._

_Sam forces himself out of bed and wanders into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. But when he’s refreshed and finished with his morning routine, he notices that it’s still silent outside. If Ruby were in the apartment, surely she would’ve made a sound by now._

_Stepping back out of the bathroom, Sam leans into the living room and looks back and forth, confirming that Ruby is indeed nowhere to be seen._

_Frowning, he goes to his nightstand and grabs his phone to give her a call._

_As the phone rings, he walks over to the closet and pushes aside the jackets to get at the drums, only—where there are supposed to be four drums, there’s only one. Sam spends an extra second staring, as though if he looks at it long enough, it’ll multiply on its own._

_Where’s the rest of the supply?_

_Sam’s call rings out, and he leaves a quick message—“Hey, Ruby. Where are you? Call me back.”_

_After hanging up, he looks around the room, then goes out into the living room just to make sure he didn’t somehow miss three drums of heroin just sitting on the countertop or some shit. There’s nothing out there, of course, and Sam tries to think of an explanation._

_Maybe Ruby went to the drop off early, to take some of the pressure off Sam’s shoulders._

_“Uh no, I haven’t seen her,” Brady says when Sam calls him to ask._

_“Where are you?” Sam asks._

_“My home,” Brady replies slowly. “Sam, is there something I’ve gotta be worried about?”_

_“No, nothing,” Sam answers immediately. “Ruby probably just went to the grocery store or something.”_

_“Okay, so we’re still on for the meeting in two hours, yeah?”_

_“Yeah,” Sam confirms, a little numbly._

_“See you then,” Brady says, and hangs up._

_Sam lowers his phone, shivering a little. There’s no one other than Brady that Ruby would be going to, if she took all that powder with her. And no one could have gotten into this apartment and taken those drums apart from Ruby._

_What the hell is going on?_

_Sam tries calling Ruby two more times, and the third time, the ringer is turned off—Ruby is_ ignoring his calls _. What the fuck?_

_She couldn’t possibly have taken all that heroin and just split, could she?_

_Oh, fuck._

_Fuck, it’s not—Ruby loves Sam. She would never do that to him. Sam shudders, resolving to try Ruby’s cell again later. Maybe—just maybe she’ll be back soon. Maybe…_

_Sam goes over to the remaining drum, the one that’s already been opened. He’s gonna have to figure this shit out, but he’s got the shivers, and he can’t think when he’s like this. If Ruby really left and took the supply that Sam was responsible for, then… well, then Sam is royally fucked._

**LUST**

_Dean is awakened in the middle of the night by persistent banging on his front door. He stumbles out of bed and tugs on a robe, since he only sleeps in his boxers, before heading over to the door._

_“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” he calls out, yawning._

_He finishes tying the sides of his robe together, tugs the door open, and freezes._

_“Dean,” Sam says, quivering despite how warm the night is, “I need your help.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean says reflexively, backing up to let Sam pass by him._

_Despite how he’s hunched over, head ducked down, Dean still notices how tall he’s gotten. Even in the dim lighting, though, he looks pale, and Dean shuts the door behind him. There are a ton of cuts and bruises all across Sam’s face, and he seems to be favoring his right side._

_“The hell happened to you?” Dean asks, frowning._

_Sam doesn’t answer, only shuffles farther into the room, and Dean notices that he’s even limping a little. Rage rises up in his chest, but he holds it at bay for the moment, because he needs to know what’s happened. He’s so distracted by the visual indications of Sam’s injuries that it takes a moment for him to realize that the scent slowly spreading in the room doesn’t even ping as his Sammy, anymore. There’s something fundamentally wrong, pungent, nauseating, about this scent._

_“Sam, what’s wrong? Who did this to you?” Dean presses. He looks sickly, and Dean wants to reach out for him, take care of him, but he reins that instinct in, unsure what’s wrong with his little brother._

_“I need money.”_

_Dean circles around and helps Sam over to sit down on his couch, flipping on the lights as they enter. Sam winces, eyes falling shut._

_“Sorry,” Dean says, reaching out to shut the lights back off. He sits down on the coffee table in front of Sam, leaning down a little to try and catch Sam’s gaze. Unsure where to start asking, he tries, “How much do you need?”_

_“A lot,” Sam says. He’s still shaking, and Dean finally reaches one hand out, rests it on Sam’s shoulder._

_“What’s the matter, Sammy?”_

_He hasn’t seen his little brother in years, and seeing him like this makes his chest ache horribly, hollowly. What’s happened to his Sammy in all this time? Dean shouldn’t have listened to him when he said not to visit, should have insisted on driving out to California to see him._

_This is his fault._

_“Dean, I—I’ve been lying to you,” Sam admits, scent heavy with guilt, still tainted with tones of darkness, sour-bitter-rot that makes Dean want to hold his breath._

_Yeah, it’s kinda obvious at this point that Sam’s been lying, but—baby steps._

_“How much money do you need?” Dean tries asking again._

_“Six million and six hundred thousand dollars,” Sam says quietly._

_“Fuck.” That definitely sounds like the kind of money that could get a guy beaten to a pulp, if not killed._

_“I’m sorry. Shit, Dean, I’m so sorry.”_

_Dean holds back the questions, the whys and the hows, because what he does know, despite the wrong-wrong-wrong in Sam’s scent, is that Sam is injured, guilty, and scared, and Dean can’t put him through any sort of an interrogation right now._

_So he just pushes his forehead against Sam’s, careful not to push too hard lest he put pressure on any of Sam’s bruises, and says, “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay. Here, let’s get you into the shower, and then we’re gonna talk, okay?”_

_Sam actually starts shaking harder, and Dean_ hurts _. He manhandles Sam to his feet—a feat, seeing as Sam is a goddamn giant._

_“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam whispers._

_Dean just ushers Sam into the bathroom and, when it becomes clear that his shaking is hindering his progress, helps him strip down. Removing Sam’s clothing only reignites the roiling anger in Dean’s chest, because apparently Sam is black and blue all over, especially on his left side. Sam stays quiet, holding as still as he can while Dean helps him. But after getting Sam’s jeans off, Dean gets to his feet and gets a look at Sam’s eyes, sees that they’re heavily dilated._

_Dean has never seen someone who’s really strung out before, but this looks a hell of a lot like that, and given the obvious beating that Sam took, Dean doesn’t even know whether he should be angry with Sam or on Sam’s behalf._

_“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean repeats, setting it all aside for now. “Let me take care of you.”_

**LUST**

_It takes a while for Dean to coax the truth out of Sam—turns out he’s been dealing drugs for the past three years. Dean doesn’t know what exactly happened, but he does know that Ruby was at least partially responsible for whatever happened that put Sam fucking 6.6 million in debt._

_He’s furious, and he wants to take it out on Sam, except Sam is knocked out in the bedroom, sleeping fitfully, and Dean can’t possibly hurt him, not right now. He knows that Sam made his own decisions and chose to leave Dean out of the loop, and yeah, it pisses him off, but any anger he feels is secondary to the instinctive need to protect his little brother._

_After all, Sammy’s gotta live through this if Dean wants to chew him out for it later._

_Sam only lasts about half an hour in the bedroom before coming out, still shaking, and Dean decides that it’s time to take him to the hospital—he’s got no clue what else to do. Sam looks feverish, clammy, so Dean shoves a coat over his shoulders before rushing him out the door to the Impala._

_They get to the emergency room just under fifteen minutes later, and Dean sits down in the waiting area to fill out paperwork while a nurse leads Sam through one of the doors at the far end of the room._

_“Dean!”_

_He looks up upon hearing his name and recognizes the nurse coming his way. “Oh, Jo. I didn’t know you were on duty.”_

_Jo shrugs, nonchalant. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Sam’s here—my little brother.”_

_“Oh, shit,” Jo says. “He’s the guy that just got signed in?”_

_“Yeah, that’s him,” Dean says—the only other occupants in the waiting area of the emergency ward are two people who’ve been here long enough to fall asleep, so Dean figures there can’t have been anyone else who was just taken in._

_“I hate to ask, but you… weren’t the one who did that to him, were you?” she says, gesturing toward her own face._

_“No,” Dean says immediately. “God, no.”_

_“Okay,” Jo says. “Sorry—had to ask.”_

_“No, I get it. It’s fine,” Dean says._

_“Well, it doesn’t look like he’s doing well,” Jo says. “Withdrawals.”_

_Dean sighs. “Yeah, he told me.”_

_“Look, we can keep him here for the rest of tonight, and probably tomorrow too, but he needs to be at a rehab facility,” Jo says._

_“Okay,” Dean says. Worrying his lip for a moment, he asks, “How much do those go for—do you know?”_

_“Not off the top of my head, no,” Jo replies. “I can find out for you, though.”_

_“It’s fine. I’ll do my own research. Just—you got any recommendations for me?”_

_“Y’know, I actually do,” Jo says with a small smile. “The place is called Silver Reflections. It’s a private facility, about an hour away from here, but it’s the best in the state, and I happen to know someone on the staff.”_

_“Silver Reflections, huh?”_

_Jo nods. “My friend goes to work around seven in the morning, so if you leave within the next half hour, you’ll probably get there right around when he does. Want me to give him a call?”_

_“Yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says. “What’s his name?”_

_“Kevin. Or—Dr. Tran, I guess.”_

_Dean chuckles. “You guess?”_

_“Saying Dr. Tran just sounds like I’m talking about his mom,” Jo says._

_“A whole family of doctors, huh?” Dean says._

_“Well, I don’t know what his dad did, yeah, basically,” Jo says. “Anyway, I’ll make a call and see when he has time to see you.”_

_“Thanks, Jo.”_

**LUST**

_Dr. Kevin Tran is young. As in,_ young _. Younger than Sammy, even. And he’s an omega, too, which is even more surprising—Dean doesn’t have anything against omegas, of course, but usually omegas who are out and about in “prestigious” professions are older, with more life experience, more knowledge of how to navigate fields dominated by alphas and betas._

_Dean mistook him for a secretary or an intern at first, but Kevin had cleared that up pretty damn quick, and Dean’s gotta admit he had doubts about the kid’s abilities, despite the recommendation from Jo._

_But it’s been just over eight hours since then—Dean still had to go to the shop, after getting back from visiting Kevin—and he’s had time to do some research online. He’s gone through several websites for rehab clinics, but they all look just about the same. They all claim to have high success rates, all have peaceful imagery—large trees, green fields, and modern-looking facilities._

_The Silver Reflections website supposedly has stats from outside research organizations, but Dean doesn’t know how much he should trust them. Then again, if he should trust any of these clinics, he should trust Silver Reflections—Jo was the one who recommended it, and she knows what she’s talking about._

_It’s expensive there, though. Kevin told him that the rate is thirty thousand a month, and the length of stay for the standard program is two years. Dean wants to give Sam the best, but he’s a mechanic—he just doesn’t make that kind of cash._

_Then again, Dean thinks almost hysterically, he’s apparently already going to have to take on more than six and a half million in debt, so what is another seven hundred thousand on top of that?_

_This afternoon, an alpha female came by the salvage yard, flanked by four hulking brutes, to tell Dean that they were there to collect—apparently, it’s not personal. If Dean can give them the money that Sam owes their master, some person named Lilith, then they’ll let up on Sam. But if he can’t give them the money, then they need to take Sam off his hands. And like hell is Dean gonna let them just take away his little brother._

_His first instinct was to go to the police, because this, what they’re doing, is extortion. But he doesn’t know what that would mean for Sam. He doesn’t know any of the specifics of what Sam’s been up to for the past few years. It sounds like Sam used to run with these guys, even, and the last thing Dean wants is to inadvertently send Sam to jail or something when what he needs is treatment._

_Fuck it._

_Dean will come up with the money one way or another. He’s got a little over forty thousand in his savings account, and while that can’t even begin to put a dent in the amount of money he’s gotta make, those people can’t kill him or Sam, because then they won’t get any money at all. At least, that’s what Dean’s counting on—the fact that he’s worth more to these goons alive than dead._

_He fishes Kevin’s business card out of his pocket and grabs his cell phone. The number printed for the card is Kevin’s direct line at Silver Reflections, but on the back, Kevin wrote his personal phone number; he explained that it was because Jo doesn’t often send people his way, so when she does, he takes it seriously._

_It’s nine o’clock in the evening, and Dean figures Kevin won’t still be at work, so he dials Kevin’s personal number and sets the business card down on the table, next to his laptop._

**LUST**

_“Okay, enough,” Kevin says after he and Jo have finished running through the list of mutual acquaintances that they have or haven’t kept up with over the years. “You don’t just ask me out for drinks on weeknights. I know what you wanna talk about.”_

_Jo nods. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says. “So how’d it go?”_

_“He thought I was an intern,” Kevin says, laughing._

_“Well, yeah. I would too, if I didn’t know any better,” Jo replies. “But anyway, how was it?”_

_Kevin shrugs. “I’m willing to help, but I can’t say much. I mean, it’s hard to get an idea of how badly someone’s doing without meeting them first. From what your friend told me, his brother’s not in a good way physically or mentally.”_

_“He’s not,” Jo says bluntly. “We’re keeping him overnight, but his physical injuries aren’t enough to justify an extended hospital stay, and I don’t think Dean knows enough about caring for someone going through withdrawals to take on his brother while he’s like this.”_

_“I hear you,” Kevin says. “There is a waiting list, but my colleagues and I do each have the authority to slot someone in at the front of the list, once every six months. I could do that for his brother, but—I don’t know, it looked like he had doubts. If he doesn’t choose our facility, then there’s nothing I can do.”_

_“Well, that I can take care of,” Jo says._

_“Okay, then,” Kevin says. After a pause, he says, “Why are you so intent on helping him? I mean, I get that he’s your friend, but… I don’t know, is there anything else?”_

_“You’re the psychiatrist. Shouldn’t you be able to tell?”_

_Kevin chuckles. “I’m a psychiatrist, not a psychic.”_

_“He really is just a friend,” Jo says._

_Kevin is about to respond when his phone goes off, so he pulls out his phone and sees that it’s an unfamiliar number. “I should probably take this.”_

_“No worries.”_

_“Yeah,” Kevin says into the phone as he lifts it to his ear._

_“Yeah hey, this is Dean—Dean Winchester, from earlier today.”_

_Kevin glances over at Jo as he says, “I remember.”_

_“Did I get you at a bad time?”_

_“No, no, it’s fine,” Kevin says. “Have you had a chance to think it over?”_

_“Is it Dean?” Jo mouths, and Kevin nods. Meanwhile, over the phone, Dean says, “Yeah, I have.”_

_“So you have a decision, then?”_

_“Yes,” Dean answers. “You said you’d be willing to help me get a spot for Sam at Silver Reflections. Is that offer still on the table?”_

_“It is,” Kevin says._

_Dean sighs. “I don’t—uh, money is kind of a problem for me, right now.”_

_“We have a number of payment plans available,” Kevin says. “If you’re willing to make an appointment, we can get together again and discuss your options. If you really don’t have the money right now, I can delay your first payment until the end of the first month of your brother’s stay here. Either way, I’ll pull some strings and get him into the program immediately, since I’ve heard the hospital won’t keep him past tomorrow.”_

_“Thank you,” Dean says, relief evident in his voice._

_“No worries,” Kevin says. “I should be free the same time tomorrow morning, if you can make the trip.”_

_“Yeah—thanks, again.”_

_“Don’t worry about it, really,” Kevin says. “See you tomorrow.”_

_As soon as he hangs up, Jo says, “He’s worried about paying for it, isn’t he?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I’ll talk to him about it,” she says._

_“It’s a lot of money to lend, if that’s what you’re considering,” Kevin says with a frown. “You sure you’re not into him?”_

_Jo rolls her eyes. “What, do you want him for yourself?” she throws out. “He’s sorta like a big brother to me, and he works for my stepdad. That’s all. Besides, I’ve got my eye on someone else.”_

_“Ooh. Do tell,” Kevin says before downing the rest of his beer._

_Jo lifts an arm to catch the bartender’s attention before saying, “Well, he’s a bit older than me, but he’s smart, and really sophisticated.”_

_“Sounds like a catch. What the hell is he doing with_ you? _” Kevin expects the punch that Jo throws his way, so he just laughs and scoots a little farther away from her before saying, “Okay, wrong question. What I meant was, what’s wrong with him? There’s gotta be something wrong with him if he has chosen to be with you.”_

_“You’re an asshole, Tran,” Jo says, holding up two fingers to the bartender to signify that they each want another drink. “I’ll have you know that he’s very taken with me.”_

_“Alpha?” Kevin asks._

_“Of course.”_

_“What does he do for a living?”_

_Jo hesitates for a moment before saying, “He’s an escort.”_

_“What—are you serious?” Kevin says, eyes bugging out because he can’t help it._

_“Hey, don’t judge,” Jo says. “Escorts don’t do sex—they do company.”_

_“Uh huh,” Kevin says skeptically._

_“Okay, so they do sex,” Jo relents. “But my guy doesn’t.”_

_“Of course he’d want you to think that,” Kevin says. “How serious are you about this guy?”_

_“I don’t wanna talk about it if you’re gonna keep being all judgmental.”_

_“I’m not,” Kevin says, and Jo raises her eyebrows. “Well I didn’t—you’ve gotta give me a minute, okay? It’s not every day that I hear that one of my friends is seriously dating an escort. And an_ alpha _escort, too. How’d you even find him?”_

_“Well, I didn’t_ hire _him, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jo says. “I met him at the hospital. His dad had a heart attack and stayed in the ICU for a while. We got to talking, and it just went from there.”_

_“I guess that’s not so bad,” Kevin says._

_“Anyway, it’s only been a little over a month, so I guess we’re not that serious yet. I can see it happening, though. I like him.”_

_“You’ll have to introduce us, sometime.”_

_“Maybe after we’ve lasted a couple more months,” Jo says. She has a faraway look in her eyes, and Kevin only wonders when he’ll find someone like that for himself._

_The bartender sets their new beers in front of them, and Kevin twists the cap off his bottle. “To your new alpha escort,” he says, lifting his drink. “May you last at least a couple more months, so I can meet him.”_

_Jo rolls her eyes but says, “Sure, I’ll drink to that.”_

**LUST**

_Dean takes a morning off from work at the salvage yard to get Sam settled in at Silver Reflections. Kevin is unbelievably understanding and helpful, and Dean is relieved that Jo recommended him. Sam isn’t conscious, was transported over in an ambulance while Dean followed in the Impala, so after seeing that Sam is in his new room, Kevin leads Dean to his office to talk about money._

_It’s a short conversation, ending with Dean thanking Kevin for everything that he’s done for Sam. Kevin accepts Dean’s gratitude quietly, graciously. He’s probably the most mature kid Dean’s ever met—and he_ is _a kid, only twenty-one fucking years old and already a staff psychiatrist at a successful rehab facility._

_That evening, the alpha female shows up, brutes in tow, and introduces herself as Tammi. Dean is prepared with thirty thousand in cash, tells them that he doesn’t have any more, and that he’ll find a way to make the rest. It gets them off his back for the time being, but Dean’s gonna have to find a way to make money, and fast. He and Sammy grew up hustling poker and filching food when they needed it, but there is no way in hell Dean can get to sums in the millions just by doing that. He’d make a run for it, but Sam is in no condition to go anywhere._

_So that leaves him with a need for fast cash, and lots of it._

_He goes ahead and gets some laundry started while he thinks, because he might as well do his chores while he tries to find a way out of this predicament. In the process of checking his pockets for knick knacks that shouldn’t go into the washing machine, Dean finds a fancy business card that he doesn’t even remember—_

_Except he_ does _remember. Crowley would’ve given him five thousand dollars, right then, just for_ thinking _about taking the job._

_Shit, he isn’t_ seriously _thinking about it now, is he? But then, what other options does he have? Bobby and Ellen can only lend him so much money, and Dean doesn’t exactly have a bunch of rich friends he can borrow from. Even if Dean could find a way to borrow six and a half million from a group of people, it would take him a couple lifetimes to pay them back for it._

_Sticking the card in his pocket, Dean finishes loading up the machine and starts the cycle._

**LUST**

_On the street, Sam always heard bad things about rehab facilities. Now that he’s inside one, it’s not half as bad as he’d expected. The place is clean, and the nurses are nice without being condescending or patronizing. Sam doesn’t talk much, so they keep their distance, and he’s glad for it._

_Ruby’s absence is like a physical ache in Sam’s chest, even though he knows that she left him, that she screwed him over. Part of him thinks that she was forced to do it, that maybe she had no other choice, that maybe she’ll come back to him._

_But it’s hard to make that argument with the truth staring him in the face—she took everything, set Sam up, and ran, without looking back. Tammi had shown up at Sam’s apartment, saying that Ruby had tipped her off about Sam’s plans to make off with the goods. The fact that the drums weren’t in the apartment hadn’t persuaded Tammi otherwise; she’d insisted that Sam had hidden them somewhere._

_Sam shudders, remembering how he’d felt when he first realized that Ruby had betrayed him. The fear and anger are still strong now, maybe even stronger now that he’s completely sober, and Sam just—doesn’t know what to do._

_A nurse comes in then, and he allows himself to be led from the room. She’s saying something, but he isn’t paying attention. He recognizes her as the nurse who usually brings meals to him, since he still hasn’t agreed to eat with the other patients. He doesn’t know where they’re going now, but he doesn’t know how much he cares._

_The hallways blur together, and Sam just wants Ruby to hold him. She’d been soft and warm and stable, everything that Sam’s life had never been before._

_Now she’s gone, and Sam feels bereft, hollow. Scared and angry._

_Distantly, he hears a door opening, followed by a new voice, but all that takes a backseat to the new scent hitting his nose. It’s soothing, warm almond toned with vanilla and something flowery, like roses. Sam has never smelled it before, yet it feels familiar, alluring. He flinches at the thought, because it doesn’t smell anything like Ruby, but he remembers being drawn to her scent, just as he’s drawn to this one. He wants more, but the mere thought of how badly things ended the last time he felt this way terrifies him._

_“Hello, Sam,” the new voice says, and Sam focuses, sees a short Asian man coming toward him, hand extended. Sam forces himself to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Dr. Kevin Tran, and I’ll be looking after you while you’re here.”_

_Sam only nods, unable to trust his voice. He draws his own hand back, resisting the urge to pull the doctor closer—wait,_ doctor _. Seriously? The guy looks a couple years younger than Sam; how can he be a licensed psychiatrist already?_

_“Have a seat,” Dr. Tran says, gesturing toward a fainting couch._

_Sam obeys, a little relieved that the chair is turned away from Dr. Tran’s armchair. Though it doesn’t make any sense, it just feels safer to have the chair back between himself and the doctor._

_“Let’s begin,” Dr. Tran says a moment later, and Sam holds back a sigh._

**LUST**

Just over three weeks after his heat, Castiel gets verification from his obstetrician, Dr. Tran, that he’s pregnant. He expects to feel something—relief, perhaps—but there’s nothing. His chest still sports the same gaping hole that has been there ever since the truth about Dean was revealed to him, and learning that his fortune has been secured does nothing to fill it.

As he heads into his office, he says, “Hannah, give Mara a call. Tell her I’d like to see her in my office as soon as she has time. And arrange for two family members to be here—whoever is free.”

“What’s going on?” Hannah asks, concerned.

“Just do it,” Castiel responds before shutting his office door and crossing over to his desk.

He wastes a good five minutes trying to focus on his work, but there is no helping it; all he can think about is the fact that he’s carrying Dean’s baby. A tiny, rebellious part of him is unspeakably, undeniably happy, but Castiel knows that that is just the omega in him talking, pleased to be fulfilling his purpose, bearing his alpha’s young. He locks that down, reminding himself for what must be millionth time that Dean is _not his alpha_.

Not anymore. Not ever again.

His fingers come up to trace the collar around his neck. After the meeting, he’ll be able to stop wearing it, but he almost doesn’t want to give it up.

It’s the omega talking again. Castiel clears his throat and places his hands flat on his desk, silently reprimanding himself. This is not to be borne.

A quick knock on the door precedes Hannah’s entrance, and she says, “Sir? Ms. Daniels will be here in ten minutes.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “And witnesses?”

“Naomi and Inias are the only Sacres in the building at present. Naomi says that she is heading to an important meeting. Would you like me to contact someone else?”

“Tell Naomi to push her meeting back half an hour. This takes precedence.”

“She won’t be happy,” Hannah says.

“Then she can take it up with me,” Castiel responds shortly. “Thank you, Hannah,” he adds, to dismiss her. She backs out of the room reluctantly, and Castiel turns his attention back to the notes on his desk.

Eleven minutes later, Mara is let into the office. Naomi and Inias are already present, seated on two couches on either side of Castiel’s desk.

“Hello, Cas,” Mara says.

“Mara,” Castiel responds, getting to his feet to shake her hand. Gesturing to the chair in front of his desk, he says, “Please, sit.”

Only after she sits down does Castiel resume his own seat, nodding first to Naomi and then to Inias. They quietly come over to the desk, standing on their respective sides.

“Ah, so you’re prepared to finalize your will,” Mara deduces, looking back and forth between the witnesses. “Do you have the paperwork from your doctor?”

“Yes,” Castiel responds, sliding the signed papers across the desk.

“Allow me a moment to make sure this is all valid,” Mara says.

Castiel nods. “Take all the time you need.”

“But be quick, if you could,” Naomi says. “I have a meeting to attend.”

“Of course. I know you’re all busy people,” Mara says, eyes never leaving the page in front of her. Less than a minute later, she says, “It looks good. I have your will with me, but before you can sign it, we need to go through the main points of the will with your witnesses.”

Naomi isn’t moving, but Castiel catches the way her lips twitch, and he gets the sense that she’s on the verge of tapping her foot impatiently.

“There is really only one main point,” Castiel says as Mara extracts the will from her briefcase and passes it to him. “In the event of my death, or any other circumstance which forces me to forfeit the Sacre Corporation, all assets will go to my child. If I pass away when my child is still too young to manage the company, the joint provisional owners will be Balthazar and Rachel Sacre until my child comes of age.”

“Are you certain this is airtight?” Naomi asks, frowning. “‘Any other circumstance’ sounds pretty vague, if you ask me.”

“It’s good to be vague in this case,” Mara responds. “If we’re too explicit, then we run the risk of failing to specify a particular scenario, which would leave a loophole for someone to take advantage.”

“So now that Castiel is thirty, if he were to separate from his mate, then the Sacre Corporation would pass on to his unborn child, and by this will, Castiel could manage the company until the child is old enough to do so him- or herself. If the worst were to happen, Balthazar and Rachel would take on that responsibility. Is that correct?” Naomi asks.

“That’s correct,” Mara says. “Cas, please proofread the document to make sure everything is in order. If either of you have any other questions, feel free to ask now.”

“If—god forbid—the child does not survive, what will happen?” Naomi asks, and Castiel pauses midway through the first sentence to hear Mara’s response.

“Then there is nothing to be done—all assets would be passed on to the eldest living alpha, as the law requires,” Mara says. Looking at Castiel, she says, “I would recommend remaining mated to your alpha until the child has been born.”

“That is not an option,” Castiel says, even as part of him yearns to follow that recommendation. He cannot allow the weak side of him to take over, to push him back into Dean’s arms.

“Your fate will rest in the health of your child, then,” Mara says. “Are you sure that is what you want?”

“I accept the risk,” Castiel says.

“All right, then. Any other questions?” Mara says.

“When did you find out you were pregnant, Cas?” Inias asks.

“Less than an hour ago,” Castiel responds, resuming his reading of the document. It’s not long, and he finishes quickly.

When he looks back up, Mara says, “Initial at the bottom of each page, where it’s indicated, but use your full signature on the last page.”

Castiel follows the instructions, also filling in the date and time on the final page. Then he passes the will to Naomi for her to sign and initial. Inias does the same when Naomi has finished.

“Would you prefer to keep this with you, or should I take it with me?” Mara asks.

“I’ll keep the original, but have Hannah make a copy for you,” Castiel says. “Naomi, you’re dismissed—go to your meeting.”

“Thank you,” she says, leaving the room swiftly.

“You can go, too, Inias.”

But his cousin doesn’t move, and Mara gets to her feet. “Good luck, Cas,” she says before turning and heading out the door.

When they’re alone, Inias sits down in the chair that Mara just vacated and says, “Okay, maybe Naomi won’t ask questions because that’s just who she is, but—what’s going on, Cas? You haven’t talked about it, but you can’t just keep it from us forever.”

“Balthazar knows. Ask him.”

“He said to ask you,” Inias says. “And before you suggest Rachel, she said to ask you, too.”

Castiel sighs, tired. “You’ll know soon enough. It’s better if you don’t know, at least for now. If any legal issues arise, I want to keep as few of you involved as possible,” he says. “I’d like to be alone now, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Yeah, okay,” Inias say, relenting. He gets to his feet and says, “In any case, congratulations about the baby. And uh, are we telling people about it?”

“Just keep the news within the family,” Castiel says. “The majority of the general public still isn’t privy to my gender, and I’d like to keep it that way, for now.”

Inias nods and exits the room without further delay.

Castiel gives himself a moment to think before taking out his phone and drafting a text to Dean, telling him to come to the office. Dean was here several times over the short period of time that they were together, enough that the doormen to the building actually recognized him. Castiel wonders whether or not they’ve noticed that Dean stopped coming three weeks ago.

It’s inconsequential, of course, and Castiel puts it out of his mind.

After this meeting, he and Dean won’t ever have to see each other again. Castiel _will_ be happy about that. He _has_ to be.

Still, when Hannah announces Dean’s arrival, Castiel thinks that it’s too early, that Dean came over too quickly. The alpha enters the room silently, and just the sight of him has Castiel’s chest twisting with want—he wants Dean to stay, wants him to leave, wants him to insist on taking care of Castiel and the baby, wants him to disappear from his life forever.

“I hope I didn’t take you from your work,” Castiel finally says as Dean sits down across from him.

“No. I was on lunch break,” Dean responds. “Did you need something?”

“I thought it’d be best to speak with you in person,” Castiel says. “I’m pregnant.” Dean stiffens in his seat but says nothing. “A will has already been drafted and signed in the presence of two witnesses and my lawyer, so our arrangement is over.”

A muscle ticks in Dean’s jaw. “Okay. Did you want to deal with the paperwork together, or—”

“I’ll have my secretary deliver it to the post office when I’ve completed my portion of it,” Castiel answers, struggling to keep his voice level.

He has met with people under extremely uncomfortable circumstances, has closed deals with men he despised without ever losing control, and this, this should be simpler. After all, when Castiel met with Dick Roman, he’d thought he would rather tear the man’s throat out than sign on the dotted line. But he is emotionally involved here, and try as he may, Castiel cannot shut himself down completely, not when Dean is sitting a meager three feet from him.

“Was that it?” Dean asks, already starting to rise from his chair.

“No,” Castiel says. “You technically did do your job, in that you provided the means by which I am keeping my inheritance. I’ll pay however much Balthazar told you he would pay.”

“What the—Cas, I don’t want—”

“This is just a transaction, Dean. I’m not doing it out of any sort of misplaced gratitude toward you,” Castiel says, and he would be proud of the coldness of his tone, except that Dean’s expression has gone pained, and despite everything, it still hurts Castiel to see him like that.

“I can’t take your money.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Castiel says. “If you don’t tell me, I will go to Crowley.”

Dean hangs his head. “Look, I already got the full amount that Balthazar said he would—”

“Was it enough?” Castiel interrupts, and Dean looks back up at him, clearly confused. So Castiel clarifies, “You said that you took the job because of a debt. Have you paid it off?”

“No,” Dean admits after a pause. “I’ve still got a little over five million left to pay off.”

“All right,” Castiel says, removing his personal checkbook from the third drawer down.

Dean sighs, brow furrowed. “Cas, don’t,” he tries again.

“A few million is nothing compared to the ten billion you helped me secure,” Castiel responds as he writes a check for five million.

It’s foolish to tell himself that he’s only doing this as some sort of recompense for Dean’s “services,” so Castiel doesn’t even try. Sentimentality may have gotten the best of him here, but as long as Dean doesn’t know his motivations, Castiel is safe.

“Besides,” he adds as he signs, “I’d like to ensure that you don’t do this to anyone else.”

Castiel isn’t looking directly at Dean, but he still catches the way Dean flinches at the words. It brings him no satisfaction, but then, Castiel hadn’t expected it to. He tears the check from his checkbook and passes it to Dean. Their fingers brush, and Castiel draws back quickly, afraid that he’ll grab onto Dean’s hand if he lingers too long.

“You can leave now,” Castiel says, meeting Dean’s gaze straight on as he dismisses him for the last time.

It’s obvious that Dean doesn’t have the experience that Castiel has for masking discomfort, because everything is written on his face, leaking into the air. He is trying so hard to control himself, and the tiniest hint of salt on the air leads Castiel to think that Dean might even be holding back _tears_. Castiel blinks once, slowly, and watches as Dean gets to his feet and moves around the chair.

Dean is almost at the door when he pauses and turns around. “Cas…” he starts, unsure.

“Just go,” Castiel says, finally shifting his gaze away. He has watched for long enough.

The door opens and closes with a quiet click, and Castiel finally lets himself _breathe_. The hardest part is over, he tells himself, but he knows better. The last three weeks were hellish without Dean, and now he has to face eight months of hormonal imbalance, of his body yearning for its alpha.

Exhaling sharply, Castiel turns to his computer and starts checking his emails. He’ll power through this just like he’s powered through any other hurdle he’s faced in the past.

**LUST**

When Kevin gets back from his weekend off, he sees the Impala parked in one of the five visitors’ slots by the entrance to the facility. It’s been a while since he last saw Dean, though he does know that Dean has been calling Sam once every couple of days to check up on him.

He gets to his office to drop off his bag and is startled to see Dean sitting inside already, waiting for him.

“Hey,” Dean says, getting to his feet as Kevin walks in. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Kevin says, putting his bag down by his desk. “Did you already see Sam this morning?”

“Yeah, I did. We had a pretty long talk about what we’re gonna do, now that we’re right at the two year mark,” Dean says, and Kevin can’t help but dread the next words that are will be coming from Dean’s mouth. Sure enough, he says, “I’m taking Sam home.”

“Today?” Kevin blurts out.

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout the short notice,” Dean says. “He also said that he wanted to go, though. I guess he’s feeling a lot better?”

“He is,” Kevin confirms—this much is true.

As though sensing that Kevin wasn’t going to let go of whatever started between them three weeks ago, Sam decided to open up completely on everything regarding Ruby. Kevin spent several sessions in a row listening to Sam describe things that they used to do together, some harmless and others… not so much.

Sam has made leaps and bounds in his recovery, but he has also shut down any of Kevin’s efforts to bring up the _thing_ , and Kevin is more frustrated than he is grateful.

“You don’t think he’s ready to leave, do you?” Dean says, frowning.

“Oh no, he’s not in any danger of relapsing,” Kevin says quickly. “And he has been very open in the past few weeks. He can leave, but I think it’d be safest if you enrolled him in an outpatient program for a short while, just as sort of a follow-up to make sure he’s doing all right.”

“That sounds great,” Dean says. “So I talked to your colleague, y’know, the skinny, mousy guy—”

“Garth?”

“Yeah, him. He told me that you had to get me started on the paperwork. Release papers and all that crap,” Dean says.

“I’ll get on it,” Kevin responds lightly, moving over to one of the filing cabinets behind his desk to find the correct papers.

It’s a _good_ thing that Sam is leaving. Maybe after Sam finishes the outpatient program, Kevin can pursue something with him that isn’t a violation of doctor-patient ethics.

But it’s hard to focus on that when the immediate consequence of Sam leaving is exactly that— _leaving_. This isn’t personal, and Sam isn’t _abandoning_ Kevin, yet somehow that is exactly how it feels. Still, Kevin cannot keep Sam here against his will, and he suspects that Dean would be hard-pressed to keep the payments coming for another two-year term. This is going to happen, whether he likes it or not.

Extracting the forms, Kevin turns around and sits down at his desk, setting the papers down in front of Dean for him to fill out. “I’ll do the bottom portion when you’re finished,” he says.

“Okay. Thanks, Kev.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics at the beginning of each chapter thus far have corresponded to the songs that the chapters are named after. However, since "Pyres of Varanasi" is an instrumental, the lyrics at the beginning of this chapter are from "A Beautiful Lie." Similarly, the lyrics at the beginning of Convergence (Ch. 10) are borrowed from another 30stm song.


	8. Bright Lights

_I'm leaving, gone yesterday;_

_Brutal, laughing, fighting, fucking,_

_The price I had to pay._

* * *

Dean is worried about Sam. There’s no helping it—ever since he was a kid, Dad left Sam in his care, so anything that goes wrong with him feels like Dean’s fault.

But the thing is, there doesn’t actually seem to be anything _wrong_ with Sam, this time. He’s pretty much normal, except for the fact that he doesn’t want to go outside. Whenever Dean gets home from work, he finds him sitting by the window, looking out at the street. The first time Dean found him there, he’d offered to go out on a walk with him, but Sam had declined, saying that he liked it better up here.

It’s been almost two and a half months since Dean picked Sam up and took him home, and Sam hasn’t changed much in that time. He has stayed indoors, quiet and contemplative. Sometimes Dean even catches hints of yearning in his scent, and he wonders whether Sam misses Ruby.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks as he shrugs his coat on—it’s almost mid-December, which means it’s pretty fucking cold outside.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam says, turning toward Dean. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Ha, I wish,” Dean responds.

The outpatient program that Kevin chose for Sam was short-term, only four visits in the first month, and that was it. Dean has had zero visits from Tammi in the last two months though, which is probably the most liberating thing ever. After getting the check for five million from Cas, Dean was able to pay off the leftover balance with what was left of his own savings, so he’s finally free of all debts.

Dean had never thought he would appreciate working at the salvage yard as much as he does now, with no need to worry about thugs coming after him for money.

“Are _you_ okay?” Sam asks, and Dean realizes that he zoned out.

“Oh. Yeah,” he responds.

He hasn’t even told Sam about Cas. By the time he picked Sam up from Silver Reflections, it had been long enough since he last saw Cas that his scent had long faded, leaving Dean smelling like his former, unmated self.

Dean thinks about telling Sam, but hell, the guy has enough crap on his plate already. And it isn’t as though Sam and Cas are ever gonna meet, seeing as Cas never wants to see Dean again.

He’s gotta be at least three months along by now, might not even be showing yet.

“Dean,” Sam says, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean says automatically. “I’ve gotta go—I’m gonna go meet a couple friends for lunch right now. Are you—did you wanna come with?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I think I’d rather stay here.”

“Okay, then.”

Dean heads for the door, pausing at the entrance just in case Sam changes his mind. But Sam’s attention is back on the window again, so Dean goes out and locks the door after him.

He waits until he’s in the Impala to send a text to Kevin, asking him to come see Sam, if he’s got time. It’s a Saturday, but Dean knows that Kevin works on the weekends sometimes. It’s also a bit of a drive for him, but he seems to care a lot about Sam, so there’s a chance that he’ll make the drive. And Dean’s gonna be out all afternoon—he’s taking a shift at the shop after lunch—so it’s the perfect time for Sam and Kevin to catch up a little.

When Dean gets to Victor’s place, Charlie and Benny are already there, in the middle of an argument.

“It’s major geekery. Don’t even bother,” Jo says as she opens the door—she finally moved in with Victor a little over a month ago, and Dean had tried so hard to dredge up some enthusiasm for her despite the fact that he was still coming off turning in legal separation papers from Cas.

His friends know that shit went south, and he didn’t have to say much about it. Hell, they had all thought it was gonna happen eventually. It had only been a matter of time.

“Dean, finally! Back me up on this,” Charlie says as Jo leads the way into a spacious living room.

“Back you up on what?”

“They’re debating which character would be the most useful in a fight,” Victor says, passing a beer to Dean before sitting down on the couch. Charlie and Benny have each claimed a loveseat, one on either side of the couch, facing each other, so Dean goes to sit by Victor on the couch.

“What are my options?” Dean asks.

“Dumbledore, Spock, Wolverine, and Gandalf,” Charlie says.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Dean says. “Gandalf could take any of them.”

“Thank you!” Charlie says.

“Oh, that’s crap,” Benny says. “All of them can be taken down by physical attacks, but Wolverine’s got those self-healing powers. He can take whatever they throw at him, but he only has to land one attack to do them in.”

“He’s got a point,” Victor says.

“I’d like to see Wolverine regenerate from the Killing Curse,” Charlie says, arms crossed.

“Dumbledore is ‘too noble’ to use that one, isn’t he?” Benny says, throwing up air quotes. “Besides, I thought you were arguing for Gandalf.”

“Well yeah, but Gandalf could beat Dumbledore, and I maintain that Dumbledore could beat Wolverine,” Charlie says. “Even if he couldn’t kill Wolverine, he could trap him indefinitely. I say that counts as a win.”

“Okay guys, can we stop?” Jo says. “Let’s just agree that Vader would crush them all with the Force, so it doesn’t matter either way.”

“Oh no, you did _not_ ,” Charlie says.

“Okay, okay, let’s not spend the next hour arguing over fictional characters,” Victor says as the doorbell goes off. “That’ll be Bela,” he says, getting to his feet. “Guys, move on over to the dining room. Jo, if you could—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Jo says, heading toward the kitchen.

Charlie gets up and follows Victor over to the door, leaving Dean and Benny alone in the living room. Dean heads over to the dining room first, acutely aware of Benny following him over.

“You all right, brother?”

“I’m good,” Dean says. But he knows Benny won’t buy that, so he corrects himself preemptively—“I’m okay. Sam’s still kinda quiet, and it’s making me worry.”

“And Cas?”

Dean shrugs. “What about Cas?”

“What _about_ Cas?” Bela parrots as she enters the room, closely followed by Charlie and Jo, the latter of whom is carrying a stack of clean plates.

Dean holds himself together—he spent long enough sweeping all of that shit under the rug, and he’s not about to let Bela drag it all out into the light now. “I’ve got nothing to say about Cas.”

“I think you ought to have _something_ dishy on the head of the Sacre empire,” Bela says, sitting down.

“Could you refrain from being an asshole for five minutes?” Charlie says as she plops down into the chair next to Bela.

“Oh, darling, you wouldn’t love me so much if I could.”

“Au contraire, I think you’d be much better off keeping that sharp tongue of yours in check on occasion,” Victor says as he comes in laden with two trays of food. Dean immediately takes one from him so that he can set the dishes down in the center of the table.

“I beg your pardon,” Bela scoffs. “I am perfectly capable of restraining myself when the situation calls for tact, but _I_ thought I was among friends, here.”

“You are,” Jo replies, “but a little consideration wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Please,” Bela says. “It may not sound good, but Dean mated that omega for money. It was a _transaction_. I see no reason to walk on eggshells because of it.”

“Bela’s right,” Dean says as Victor takes the rest of the food from him and goes about setting it down on the table. “Cas and I had a temporary, mutually beneficial relationship, and that’s it.”

“Word on the grapevine is that Cas got knocked up,” Bela says. Eyeing Dean as he sits down, she says, “I wouldn’t normally put much stock in rumors, but given the circumstances, it was your doing, I presume?”

Dean’s throat tightens, and he doesn’t think he can make a sound.

“Bela,” Jo says reprovingly. “Don’t be a dick.”

Bela rolls her eyes, but the next thing that comes out of her mouth is, “Where’s Andrea? Why isn’t she here?” and as Benny responds that it’s something to do with work, Dean just feels relieved.

His friends may know the gist of what happened between him and Cas, but all they really know is that the relationship is over—they don’t know the motivations behind his or Cas’s choices, and Dean would like to keep it that way.

**FAITH**

It’s surprising how clearheaded Castiel is these days. He’d expected the pregnancy hormones to make him especially irritable and befuddled, but it turns out not being on suppressants for an extended length of time is an immeasurable boon. He’s quicker to anger and more likely to succumb to his emotions, but his senses feel sharper, clearer. He started taking meds early on, after his first heat, and before mating, he’d forgotten how it felt to be free of suppressants.

It’ll no doubt be disappointing when the pregnancy ends and Castiel has to go back on them, but it’ll be necessary—there is nothing Castiel dislikes more than losing control over his own body. He wouldn’t have minded with Dean, but—

Castiel cuts those thoughts off right there. His mind needs to stop going in that direction.

Straightening in his seat, he moves his mouse around to wake up the computer.

There’s a knock on the door, and then Balthazar steps into the office. Castiel forces a quick smile in his direction, breathing slowly and deeply to keep his feelings under wraps. He loves his brother, will always love his brother, but this transgression has been more difficult to forgive than most.

As an omega in a position of power, Castiel has always taken care to guard his heart zealously, but in the end, he was too quick to trust, too quick to fall, and Balthazar is partially at fault for it—he knows Castiel better than anyone, and it stands to reason that he searched for someone whom he believed could win Castiel’s heart.

“You look well,” Balthazar says.

Castiel just nods. He and Balthazar haven’t traded words on more than a few occasions since Castiel’s heat. He suspects that Balthazar feels guilty and has been avoiding him, as he very well should.

Rachel has been around often, though, fussing over Castiel like a mother hen. And Naomi’s demeanor has softened somewhat in regards to Castiel; she typically treats all around her with severity. Castiel suspects that it is the alpha in her, recognizing Castiel as a pregnant omega and deeming him vulnerable, in need of protection.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Balthazar says, sitting down in front of Castiel’s desk.

“You’ve said so before. There’s no need to repeat it.”

“You shouldn’t be going through this alone, not when the father of your child is out there and available.”

Castiel looks at Balthazar, irate. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I mend what I had with Dean. The relationship was never real. You should know that better than anyone, seeing as you’re the one who staged it.”

“I realize that you can’t forgive me for this,” Balthazar says. “But don’t place your anger on Dean and deprive yourself of a source of support. He didn’t want to do it.”

“His reluctance changes nothing. He did it anyway, didn’t he?” Castiel responds.

“Yes, but do you really think he was falsifying his emotions the entire time?”

“He was being paid to do so, wasn’t he?”

Balthazar sighs. “You have eyes, Castiel.”

“Nothing that I saw or felt in the time that we were together can be trusted,” Castiel responds. “My judgment was clouded.”

“Then trust _my_ judgment,” Balthazar says. “I knew the truth, and I saw your interactions from beginning to end. Dean’s regard for you may have been a touch fake in the beginning, but not for long. He poured as much of himself into you as you into him.”

“What is the point of this?” Castiel asks. “I ended my relationship with Dean more than two months ago, and nothing you say will convince me to pick it back up.”

“I just think that you’d be better off if you had someone here for you.”

Castiel squints at his brother. “You think I need an alpha to get through this? Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Balthazar says immediately, almost too quickly. “You’ve never needed an alpha. I know that.”

“Good.” It’s silent for a moment, and then Castiel says, “I hadn’t thought that this would need saying, but please refrain from speaking to me about Dean, in the future. I don’t want to hear his name.”

“All right. Sorry.”

“If there’s nothing else, you can leave now.”

Balthazar hesitates, clearly displeased by the outcome of their discussion, but Castiel can’t bring himself to care what his brother feels right now. “Goodbye, then.”

Castiel looks back at his computer, pulling up his meeting schedule and waiting for Balthazar to depart and leave him in peace. The quiet doesn’t last for long, though, because not two minutes after Balthazar leaves, the door opens again, this time to admit Alfie.

“Hey, Cas. I was just heading out, figured I’d check on you and remind you that it’s Saturday—you don’t have to be here,” he says.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Castiel snaps.

Alfie draws back slightly, eyes going wide. “Cas, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, tempering his tone. “Sorry,” he adds. “Perhaps the pregnancy hormones are affecting me more than I’d anticipated.”

“It’s obviously more than that,” Alfie says sympathetically. “You should take the rest of the day off. Everything is under control, here.”

“Anna and Naomi will be meeting later today, to discuss when and how much they should tell the press about me,” Castiel says. “I’m afraid they’ll eat each other whole if I’m not here to keep them from each other’s throats.”

“Inias and I can handle that,” Alfie offers. “Besides, I saw Balthazar on my way up, and I know Rachel’s around the building somewhere. They can sit in on the meeting too, I’m sure.”

“Alfie…”

“Cas, really. Go home. Anna and Naomi know what they’re doing, and we’ll be there to mediate.”

Castiel deliberates for a moment longer before nodding. “All right, I’ll go home.”

“Good,” Alfie says, clearly relieved. “Did you drive here today?”

“I called a car,” Castiel responds.

“Bartholomew?”

“No—he was out sick, today,” Castiel says.

“Josiah, then,” Alfie concludes. “I’ll call him for you.”

“Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later, Castiel thanks Josiah for coming to take him home on such short notice and gets out of the car, crossing the sidewalk and taking the steps up to his front door. As he lets himself in, he takes out his cell phone and thumbs down to Dr. Tran’s number.

“Hello, Castiel,” she says warmly.

“Hello, Dr. Tran.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Linda?” she says, and Castiel just chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m well enough,” Castiel replies, toeing off his shoes. He sets his briefcase down and heads for the stairs, loosening his tie as he does. “I was just wondering if you could get me something to take care of mood swings, lessen their frequency.”

“Are you experiencing a lot of mood swings?” Linda asks, sounding concerned.

“Not really—it’s more of a preemptive measure than anything else,” Castiel says. Then he admits, “I have little patience, lately.”

“I can prescribe you some medication,” Dr. Tran says. “It’s normal to be a little agitated during a pregnancy, but I can understand your concerns, especially if you expect to continue working.”

Castiel is about to respond, but he steps into his room at that moment and is startled to see an unfamiliar woman standing in the center of the room, not three feet from his bed. Alpha. She shifts her weight onto one leg, cocking her hip and tilting her head just slightly, brown curls bouncing slightly at the movement, and Castiel blinks slowly, half-expecting her to disappear, like a hallucination.

“Castiel?” Dr. Tran says, reminding Castiel that he needs to act.

But before he can move or speak, the woman lifts a gun and points it at him. Eyes widening, Castiel blurts out the first thing that comes to mind—“Don’t hurt me! I’m pregnant.”

“Castiel, who are you talking to?” Linda asks urgently. “Where are you? What’s happening?”

The woman moves closer, firing a shot off that whizzes just past Castiel’s left ear when he tries to back away. The crack of the gunshot jolts Castiel into motion, and he flings his phone at the alpha before turning away to run. Another bullet flies past him, and then he’s pounding his way down the stairs, the intruder only a few steps behind him.

She bowls into him right at the foot of the stairs and shoves him into the wall across from them, getting a hold of his right arm and twisting it behind his back.

“I’m pregnant,” Castiel repeats, even though it clearly wasn’t enough to deter her before.

“I know,” the alpha says into his ear, voice smooth like velvet.

She hits him hard over the back of the head, and he falls, unconscious.

**FAITH**

Kevin is already visiting Mom in the city when he gets the text from Dean asking if he’s got time to check up on Sam. Seeing as Kevin is right in the middle of telling Mom all about Sam, she is more than willing to let him go as soon as she hears that “her baby’s potential alpha” might need his help.

Now, Kevin is a few minutes away from Dean’s apartment building, thinking about what he’s going to say to Sam when he finally sees him. It’s been more than a month since they last saw each other, after all, and Kevin _misses_ Sam, a lot.

He’s surprised by how well Mom took it, though. She doesn’t even mind that Sam is a former patient, four years his senior—all that _really_ matters is that Kevin likes him. Kevin had suspected that Mom really just wanted grandchildren, but she’d gone on to say that her most important consideration was still his happiness, despite how pushy she’s been about having grandchildren.

When Kevin pulls up in front of the apartment complex, he still hasn’t figured out what he’s gonna say. He doesn’t know how he should act, or what his and Sam’s relationship is at this point—does Sam think of him only as a former therapist? A friend? Or—dare he think it—more?

But fretting about it in the car won’t get him any answers—there’s nothing left but to go on up and see what happens.

**FAITH**

“Kevin,” Sam says when he opens the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh, just thought I’d check up on you,” Kevin says.

Sam can scent the apprehension on him, subtle as it is, but he decides not to call him on it. “I’ve only been out for like ten weeks. Do you not trust me or something?”

“Of course I trust you,” Kevin says. “I just wanted to see if you were doing all right.”

Suspicious, Sam asks, “Did Dean tell you to come?”

Kevin chuckles. “Busted. Is he around?”

“No, he went out to meet up with a couple friends,” Sam replies.

“Can we talk?”

Sam almost steps aside to let Kevin in, but wariness keeps his feet rooted right where they are. “About what?”

“I don’t know—anything you want,” Kevin says.

“As my psychiatrist?” Sam asks.

Kevin hesitates. “No,” he decides. “As your friend, if you’ll allow it.”

Then it’s Sam’s turn to consider it, the possibility of—more. Kevin has made it clear to him in the past that he might eventually want more than just friendship, and Sam doesn’t know whether or not he’s capable of that, whether or not he’ll ever be. The thought of letting someone in, of taking that risk, is almost too much.

The fact that Sam might want Kevin even more than Kevin wants him is beside the point.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says at last. Kevin’s face falls a little, and Sam almost asks him to come inside anyway. But his better judgment wins out, and he says, “There are rules, aren’t there? I’m not still at the facility, but I was still your patient. We can’t change that.”

“That doesn’t kill any chance of a relationship between us,” Kevin says. “There’s no reason for us to suffer apart when we can be happy together.”

“Who says I’m suffering now?” Sam says. “Who says I’ll be happy if I’m with you?”

Kevin’s jaw clenches. “If time is what you need, I can wait.”

“Kevin, I don’t think—”

“I know you feel it, Sam,” Kevin breaks in, exasperated. “I _know_. I understand why you don’t feel comfortable with pursuing it just yet, but how can you deny even the possibility—”

“You’re not psychic, Kevin. You can guess at how I feel, but you can’t know,” Sam says. It’s been a while since he and Kevin last saw each other, and he thinks that if he tries, he can kill this—this _thing_ between them. It’s for the best.

“You can’t lie to me,” Kevin persists.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Sam says. “Have you ever even been with an alpha before?”

“Yes.”

Jealousy flares up in Sam’s chest, but he fights it back down and presses on. “Sexually?”

Kevin’s cheeks color as he says, “Well no, but—”

“Look—Kevin, I’m damaged. You can’t possibly—you’re still so _young_. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and you shouldn’t be trying to hitch yourself to someone—someone like me.”

“Don’t say that,” Kevin says, brows furrowed.

“You don’t even know what I was like before. You’ve only seen me in a clinical setting.”

“I’ve seen you at your worst, arguably,” Kevin says. “It hasn’t stopped me from pursuing you thus far, so what makes you think you’ll be able to dissuade me with it now?”

Sam fights back the impulse to give in, to pull Kevin close. “I think you should leave,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the open hurt on Kevin’s face, like he isn’t even trying to hide it.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” Kevin says at last, stepping back.

Sam just nods, throat suddenly too thick to make a sound. Kevin turns away to go down the hall, and Sam almost asks him to stay, almost tells him that he’s changed his mind.

But that would defeat the purpose of this, so he just watches until Kevin disappears around the corner.

**FAITH**

Kevin rushes down the stairs of the apartment building, fighting back tears. He knows that it’s no way to react to this, but he can’t seem to help it. He’d known that it was a long shot, and that Sam wouldn’t be ready for a relationship necessarily, but he’d thought that he might be open to the possibility, at the very least.

Hell, he’s _certain_ that Sam has—or had—feelings for him.

What if it was all just wishful thinking on his part? What if his vision was clouded by his own want? The thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. How much of all this was his own want, projected onto Sam?

Is Sam right not to trust him?

Kevin pushes open the front gate of the apartment complex and takes a deep breath of fresh air. No—Jesus Christ, no. Kevin knows himself. If Sam hadn’t had any inclinations toward him, he would have realized it.

He crosses the sidewalk to his car, but as he starts to walk around it, he glances in the back window and happens to catch the reflection of a hooded figure quickly coming toward him from behind his back.

Spinning around, he raises a hand to ward off his assailant, but then they’re pressing a cloth against his mouth, and he recognizes the scent in the moment before he blacks out—chloroform.

**FAITH**

Dean’s phone rings as he’s driving to the salvage yard, and at first he thinks it might be Victor calling to tell him that he left something at the house. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and frowns when it’s an unfamiliar number.

He picks up on speaker phone and says, “Hello?”

“We have your angel,” a husky female voice says.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asks, but his mind is already leaping to Cas. Fuck, it’s probably just a joke. It’s gotta be a joke.

“Castiel is the name of an angel; didn’t you know that?”

Dean resists the urge to throw his phone. “Who are you?” he demands.

“Does that _really_ matter, Dean-o?”

“Where are you? Where have you taken Cas?”

“How ‘bout I text you with my address?”

“What the fuck do you even want with him?” Dean says. “I paid the rest of Sam’s debt months ago—paid it in full.”

The woman laughs. “Do you _really_ think that that’s what this is about?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? You tell me what it’s about, then.”

“See you soon, Dean.”

“Hey, wait—” Dean starts, but then he hears a click, followed by the dial tone. “Fuck,” he curses, pulling the car over. His phone vibrates with a new text message a moment later, and he reads off an address that’s across town from his current location.

Jesus—if this isn’t about Lilith’s drug money, Dean doesn’t know what to expect. All he knows is that Cas is in danger, and that it’s probably Dean’s fault.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean has already done enough to hurt Cas. If anything happens to him, or to the baby, Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself.

**FAITH**

Sam has been back at his seat by the window for about fifteen minutes, still shaking a little from the encounter with Kevin, when his cell phone rings. He doesn’t recognize the number, and it’s strange that anyone would have this number, anyway—Dean got the phone for him when he left Silver Reflections, and Sam hasn’t added any contacts. It’s not as though he still has friends from Stanford, and he hasn’t really ventured out of the apartment much since he came to live here.

Still, he picks it up—maybe Dean gave his number out to someone. “Hello?” he says.

“Hey, baby.”

A shiver runs down Sam’s spine at the voice, unmistakable even through the phone. “How did you get this number?” he says lowly.

“Think about it, Sam. You’re a smart boy. Who could possibly have given me your number?” Ruby says.

“Dean—do you have Dean?” Sam says, surging to his feet. He may never have participated in the rougher activities associated with the trade—roughing people up, threatening them, sometimes even shooting them up—but he knows that Ruby did some pretty questionable things.

“Guess again,” Ruby says.

Sam can hear the smile in her voice, and it makes him want to throw up.

But apart from Dean, he can’t think of anyone else who would have his phone number. Bobby, maybe? It makes sense that Dean would leave Sam’s number with Bobby in case of any emergencies. Or—or—

 _No_.

“He really is a beauty,” Ruby says. “I don’t go for omegas, but my sister sure has a thing for them. Pretty young thing like him? Don’t think she’ll be able to resist.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam growls.

“Or maybe,” Ruby says, “maybe I should give him a taste of the good stuff. He’s spent so much time helping people overcome addiction—wonder how good he’ll do overcoming it when it’s his own.”

Sam snarls, livid, helpless, furious. “Where are you?”

“A little warehouse on Blackhawk Street,” Ruby says. “You might want to hurry.”

With that, she hangs up, and Sam glares at his phone for about five seconds before giving Dean a call—he doesn’t know where Blackhawk Street is, and he doesn’t have the goddamn patience to sit down and turn on his laptop to look it up.

It takes Dean four rings to actually answer.

“Dean, answer your goddamn phone!” Sam is barking just as the call picks up.

“Dude, I’m answering,” Dean says, voice tight. “What do you want?”

“It’s Kevin,” Sam says. “Ruby’s here—she’s in town, and she’s got Kevin.”

Dean is silent for a second, and Sam thinks he might explode. “I’m passing by my place—I’ll come get you.”

“You don’t even know—”

“She’s got Cas, too.”

“Who’s Cas?”

“Cas is—long story,” Dean says, sounding pained, and Sam wonders if that pain has always been there. Has he been too caught up in himself to notice? “I’ll come get you,” Dean repeats, and Sam nods even though his brother can’t see him.

“I’ll head down now, then,” he says, and hangs up.


	9. Do or Die

_行动还是死亡？_

* * *

Castiel wakes with a mild headache, sight a bit blurry. He blinks a few times to regain his bearings before remembering what happened back at the house. He was chased down a flight of stairs and knocked out by an alpha. Female alpha. Curly, brown hair, dark eyes, small mouth and pointed chin, petite nose—if Castiel lives through this, he’ll want to be able to describe her to the police.

His sight clears up entirely, and he notes that he’s in what seems to be an empty storage space, about the size of a three-car garage. He’s seated, tied to a chair. Across from him, by the entrance, two women are speaking to each other in low voices. One of them is the alpha who took him from his house. The other he doesn’t recognize, but he picks up that she’s an omega. The omega’s face is considerably more angled, hair less curly than her partner’s but still wavy nonetheless.

They seem related, their scents echoing each other. And if they’re not related, then they’ve been mated for a long time, long enough that their scents have blended to some extent.

The one who took Castiel looks up suddenly and smiles. “Hey, our little angel’s awake.”

“If you want money—” Castiel starts, voice hoarse, but the woman holds her hand up, and he stops himself from going on.

“This is about so much more than money,” she says.

In Castiel’s peripheral vision, he notices a second figure, and when he looks to his right, he sees a young Asian man—or boy, possibly a teenager—tied up just as Castiel is. “Who is he?” Castiel asks—he understands why he may have been a target, since he’s the owner of the Sacre Corporation. But he has never seen this boy before.

“The runt? I guess we could let him go,” the omega says, stepping forward. “Though I wouldn’t mind putting him through some training, keeping him.”

“He smells sweet enough,” the alpha agrees. “So do you, angel, but you, unfortunately, will have to die—no two ways about it.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says. “I’m worth more to you alive than dead. If you hope to hold me for ransom, it stands to reason that you need to keep me alive.”

“I already told you: it’s not about the money, honey,” the alpha says, stepping closer to him. Her nostrils flare slightly, and she leers at him. “Ooh, but I just might have my way with you first—you smell so _delectable_.”

Castiel shudders in his bonds and tries to keep the conversation going. “Why do I have to die?” he asks.

“Well, for starters, that baby in your belly is a Winchester,” the omega says, arms folded across her chest, “and we happen to be in the business of killing Winchesters.”

A lead weight drops to the bottom of Castiel’s stomach.

_Dean_.

“He won’t come for me,” Castiel says, because it’s true. He and Dean were never an item, not for real, and Castiel made it absolutely clear to Dean that he never wanted to see him again.

For the first time, he’s _grateful_ for it. Treacherous or not, Castiel cannot deny that he cares for Dean, cares for him deeply, and he doesn’t want Dean to be hurt.

“Won’t he?” the omega says. “You’re carrying his child, Castiel.”

“We were never in a real relationship,” Castiel bites out. “He just needed money to pay off a debt.”

“I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t show,” the alpha says, but then she shrugs and adds, “It doesn’t matter—either way, you’re gonna die. And since you’re taking the baby with you, Lucifer will take everything.”

Castiel stares at her. “You—you’re working for my _brother?_ ”

“I wouldn’t say that we’re _working for him_ , necessarily,” she responds. “Let’s just say the goal we had in mind happened to serve his best interests, and he was more than willing to provide the funds and the intel to make it happen.”

It’s impossible.

Castiel may not have the best of relationships with his half-brothers, true. He is also quite certain they were hoping that he wouldn’t find a mate, that he would be forced to pass the corporation on into their hands. But he never imagined that any one of them, not even Lucifer, would go so far as to enable people to kidnap Castiel with the intention of _murdering_ him. It is a level of heartlessness that Castiel probably should have foreseen, given his latest maneuver to secure his hold on his father’s empire.

Lucifer will pay for his treachery, but for now, Castiel needs to focus on getting out of here, and these two women are crucial.

“I know my brother’s motives,” Castiel says, “but what are yours? What do you have against the Winchesters, that you want an unborn child gone?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” the omega says. Looking over at her companion, she says, “We need to talk, now. Outside.”

“About?”

Eyes narrowing to slits, the omega jerks her head toward the unconscious boy. “You know why.”

“Fine,” the alpha says, turning toward the doorway.

When they pull open the door, it seems to lead to a hallway—so this room doesn’t open directly to the outside. That’ll be useful information, if Castiel somehow manages to escape his bonds.

His hands are fastened securely behind his back, though, and there is no furniture in this room, no sharp edges that Castiel could possibly use to his advantage.

He looks back at the Asian boy, wracking his memory to see if he can find out how he’s related to any of this. They captured Castiel presumably to lure Dean here, and if it is the Winchester family they are after, then the only other member Castiel can think of is Dean’s little brother.

The boy seems to be an omega, probably a decade younger than Castiel—

Suddenly a memory flags in Castiel’s mind, the faint impression of an office, an old oak desk with a framed picture on it, a picture of this boy.

It’s Dr. Tran’s office—this must be her son. Castiel asked after him once, but he has to admit he wasn’t paying very much attention to Linda’s response; he’d asked out of politeness, not out of any real desire to become familiar with her family.

Well—whether or not he turns out to be Linda’s family, Castiel hopes he wakes up soon. They’ll have to work together to get out of here alive.

**FAITH**

Sam gets out of the Impala and heads straight for the building up ahead, but Dean hisses for him to _get back here_ , and leads him around to the trunk. He opens it and lifts the false bottom, and—oh, whoa. It’s all still here, a remnant of their childhood, the collection of guns and knives that Dad amassed in his crusade against Mom’s murderer.

“Dean,” Sam starts, the word slipping from his mouth before he can stop himself, but he doesn’t go on—there’s no point to it, not when people’s lives are in danger. Sam doesn’t get how Dean can deny how much he loved Dad—how much he _still_ loves him—when he’s got all of Dad’s crap stowed in the trunk, even after all these years.

But they can talk about this later, if they live through this.

Sam grabs a small folding knife to keep up his sleeve and picks the gun that used to be his—it looks like it’s still in good condition, but that would have required maintenance now and then over the years. Holding his tongue, Sam waits for Dean to finish arming himself. They slam the trunk shut then and head over toward the door.

The parking lot is empty apart from the Impala, but that doesn’t mean there are no workers indoors. God, Sam hopes no one else is there. The less people around, the better. He knows how Ruby works, knows that she used to mention collateral damage, and he used to not really give a shit.

Being with Ruby really fucked with his head, and he can’t believe how much he let slide—how fucking _blind_ he was.

The door swings open when they’re still something like ten yards away, and Ruby steps out into the light. Sam stops right where he is, seized up with fear and anger and repulsion. An instinctive part of him wants to leap forward, cross the distance between them, and crush Ruby’s throat, eliminate the threat before she can get to him, before she can get back into his head.

He draws his gun instead, lifting it to point it at her, but she just smiles in response.

A boot swings into Sam’s vision, and the gun is kicked out of his hands before he can even react. He wheels around and immediately gets a sound punch to the jaw, backing up a couple steps to buy himself time to regroup—figures that Ruby would have a partner to help her.

But when he looks over, he sees a short alpha—unfamiliar face, female—snatching Dean’s arm and pointing his gun upward. Dean is reaching behind himself, probably to grab another weapon, but the woman shoves the barrel of her gun right up against the bottom of Dean’s chin, forcing his head upward, and he stills at the threat.

“Move one inch, Sam, and I’ll blow his head off,” the alpha says, smiling winningly at Sam. Looking back at Dean, she says, “What a shame it would be to end this so early. He’s got such pretty eyes.”

As her partner finishes speaking, Ruby moves out of the doorway, her own gun in hand and trained on Sam. She stoops down to pick up Sam’s gun, tossing it out of reach of everyone.

“Come on,” she says, motioning with her gun for Sam to move closer to the building.

Wary, Sam slowly takes a few steps toward the door.

He considers just going for it with an attack—if he moves quickly enough, in a direction that Ruby’s not expecting, he could possibly get right in front of her without being shot, and when she’s within range, he should be able to disarm her. But the alpha female didn’t look like she was bluffing about shooting Dean, and Sam has no guarantees that he’d be able to complete the maneuver without getting shot himself.

He didn’t come all the way out here just to get taken down before even _seeing_ Kevin.

When Sam has passed by Ruby, she starts following him back toward the door. “Hands behind your back,” she orders.

Sam hesitates at that, because they’re no doubt planning to tie his hands behind his back, and while he could cut himself free, it’ll still be a disadvantage.

“I’ve got your brother’s head in my hands, sweetheart,” the alpha coos.

Gritting his teeth, Sam stops walking and puts his hands behind his back, and sure enough, the next thing he knows, they’re zip-tied together at the wrist. God, that’s gonna be hard to cut with a knife, and it’ll be an awkward angle, too.

Good thing Dad taught them how to escape being tied up—it’ll take a little longer than rope because zip-ties can’t really be worked loose… but Sam will be able to manage it, and that’s what matters.

“All right—march,” Ruby says, one hand resting between his shoulder blades and shoving him forward.

Sam steps through the open doorway.

**FAITH**

Everything is fuzzy around the edges when Kevin opens his eyes, and his mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. He groans, surprised by how raspy his voice sounds.

“Are you awake?” he thinks he hears, but it’s faded, like the voice is coming at him from a distance.

He hasn’t heard that voice before, but then maybe it’s the distance screwing with his senses.

“Wake up—please—and don’t make any loud noises.”

Kevin exhales through his nose, trying to generate some saliva.

“My name is Castiel Sacre, and I’ve— _we’ve_ —been kidnapped. I need your help to get us out of here.”

Kidnapped. That rings a bell.

Fuck, he remembers now. He’d only just left Sam’s building when someone came at him and took him. So he’s been kidnapped, and—

No, hold up.

“ _Castiel Sacre?_ ” Kevin repeats, his brain just catching on.

“Yes. I need you to—”

“No, just. Give me a minute,” Kevin says, because what the _fuck_. In what world would Kevin ever be kidnapped and held hostage with the likes of _Castiel_ fucking _Sacre_ , sole owner of the multibillion-dollar Sacre Corporation?

“I apologize, but we may not even _have_ a minute,” Castiel says. “We are alone for the moment, but I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Kevin says. “Okay. Who took us? Do you know? I mean—shit, you’re rich as fuck, but why would they want _me?_ ” Belatedly, he adds, “Uh—pardon my language.”

Castiel looks at him, clearly unimpressed, and asks, “Do you know Sam or Dean Winchester?”

Kevin blinks a few times, startled—the question seems to be a little out of left field, but then again, Kevin _was_ taken right outside their apartment building.

But how would the Winchesters know _Castiel Sacre?_

“Uh, yeah. I was Sam’s psychiatrist,” Kevin says.

“That… doesn’t quite explain it,” Castiel says, frowning.

“Explain what?”

“I’m trying to piece together why they would take us. I spoke with them while you were still unconscious, and they’re especially keen on seeing the Winchesters die—they mentioned that they might let you live, so it doesn’t seem like they’re after people associated with the Winchesters, just the family members themselves.”

“But you’re not a Winchester—obviously.”

“No, but I’m carrying a Winchester.”

It takes a moment for Kevin to realize what Castiel means by that. “Holy shit, you’re _pregnant?_ ”

Well, that confirms the rumors about the leader of Sacre Corp being an omega. People have been speculating for years, but their press representatives haven’t really given direct answers—they’ve outright denied it at times, but it never did anything to quell the rumors.

Then Kevin frowns. “Not—not Sam’s, right?” he asks, because he has to. Sam has only been out for about ten weeks, and Kevin thinks that he still has trust issues, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have gone out and had a one night stand or something.

“No,” Castiel confirms. After a pause, he asks, “Were you more than Sam’s therapist?”

“No,” Kevin answers, only _just_ managing to stop himself from tacking an ‘unfortunately’ onto the end.

“Well, I’m almost certain that they captured me with the intention of using me to lure Dean here, so it stands to reason that you are to serve the same purpose for Sam,” Castiel says.

Kevin shakes his head. “Well, they’re gonna be disappointed,” he says, starting to look around the room. “I was with Sam just before I got snatched. He uh—” Kevin pauses, but then he figures he might as well come out with the truth, seeing as he could be dead soon anyway. “He’d just finished turning me down.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Perhaps they assumed that he cared for you.”

“Yeah—they wouldn’t be the only ones,” Kevin says. God, he sounds so bitter, even to himself. This needs to stop. “Sorry. We gotta get outta here.”

“Unless there is furniture behind us, we have no tools at our disposal,” Castiel says.

“You got a plan?” Kevin asks.

“How tightly bound are your hands?”

“Tight,” Kevin says. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not even sure he can still feel them. “Uh, they’ve gone numb,” he tells Castiel.

“Then I’ll have to do the untying,” Castiel says. “If you can throw your weight toward me, a little at a time, we can slide our chairs closer together.”

“And if we can get back to back, we can untie each other,” Kevin says, nodding. “Okay, let’s do it.”

He starts shifting his weight, but with his feet bound to the legs of the chair as they are, it’s difficult to get leverage. He moves a painstaking quarter inch at a time, but with Castiel working toward the same goal, it’s easier to motivate himself to keep moving.

He gets a little too eager after a minute or so and throws his weight with too much force, almost overbalancing and falling onto his side.

“Shit,” he mutters, pausing to catch his breath.

“Are you okay, Kevin?”

“Yeah, fine,” Kevin replies instinctively, and then he stares at Castiel. “How do you—did I tell you my name?”

“Ah. I may have seen your picture on your mother’s desk,” Castiel says, still scooting closer to Kevin.

“Oh my god. _You’re_ one of Mom’s patients?”

“High profile people are still people. It would make sense for me to consult an obstetrician during pregnancy, wouldn’t you think?”

“Well yeah, but—wow.”

“We have a confidentiality agreement,” Castiel says. “You can’t blame your mother for not telling you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kevin says. “Still, it’s a surprise. I knew Sacre Corp was headquartered somewhere here, but I never thought…” he pauses. “Well, I never actually believed the rumors that you were an omega in the first place.”

Castiel pauses with an amused huff. “I understand the appeal of creating intrigue about my gender, and I realize that non-confirmation has helped me circumvent a lot of potential trouble, doubts in my ability. But I never felt the need to hide.”

“Yeah, neither did I. School was always a little intimidating, but it was mostly because the kids were just so much bigger than I was,” Kevin admits.

“Enough talk,” Castiel says. “Keep moving.”

But before Kevin can do so, the lock on the door clicks, and he holds still, head whipping up in time to see the door swing open. Sam steps inside first, followed closely by Ruby—Kevin recognizes her, now. Sam’s hands are behind his back, and when they move to the side, Kevin sees that Ruby is holding a gun.

Next, an unfamiliar woman passes through the doorway with a gun pressed right up against Dean’s throat. To Kevin’s left, he senses Castiel stiffening up, scents the way panic filters into the room where there’d been nothing but calm determination moments before.

“Your heroes are here!” Ruby announces. “Not very impressive though, are they?”

“Let them go,” Dean says. “You already have us—you don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh, but Dean-o,” the unfamiliar woman drawls, “that would ruin all the fun.”

**FAITH**

The scent of Cas’s distress hits the air, and Dean thinks he might actually go crazy. The gun pressed right against his neck reminds him not to move, but it’s Cas—it’s _Cas_.

Cas and Kevin are each tied to a chair, and shit, this was the absolute last thing Dean wanted for Cas. In all this time, he has refrained from hopes of even _seeing_ Cas again, but he can’t control what he dreams, and most nights, he dreams of going to Cas’s door, of winning Cas’s forgiveness, of taking care of Cas and the baby.

God, if he thought things were bad before, they’ll be even worse now, now that Dean has actually put Cas’s life in danger.

And then there’s Sam, hanging by a goddamn thread—Dean saw for himself just how shaken up Sam was when Ruby appeared in that doorway. Hell, it distracted Dean enough to let this short knotwipe of an alpha get the drop on him.

They just need to stall long enough for the police to get here. Dean was always his father’s son growing up, but he’s not stupid enough—suicidal enough—to just walk straight into a hostage situation, guns blazing, without a backup plan. Dean just counts his lucky stars that the kidnappers seem to have assumed that they wouldn’t call the police, probably because of Sam’s history outside the law.

“So, Meg, who should we start with?” Ruby says.

The alpha—Meg, apparently—answers, “Oh, I don’t know, baby. I could go either way on this one.”

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” Dean cuts in. “Lilith has her money.”

“I already told you—this isn’t about money,” Meg says.

Then Ruby is walking around Dean, grabbing his arms to tie them, and Dean looks over, sees that the zip-tie around Sam’s hands is attached to a metal ring protruding from the wall.

“Then what _is_ it about?” Dean asks.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Ruby says.

“I don’t see why not,” Meg says with a shrug.

She lowers the gun when Dean’s hands are secured, and Dean immediately tips forward to head-butt her, kicking back as he does so. He doesn’t actually manage to kick Ruby—she jumps out of the way too quickly—but at least Meg is stumbling back, blood spraying from her nose. Dean’s wrists are still bound, but he runs toward Cas anyway, alpha instincts telling him to put himself between Cas and the threat, logical or not.

A gunshot goes off, and Dean falls, registering belatedly that pain is shooting up his leg. His right shoulder and hip throb from the impact with the ground, but all Dean can think is that Cas shouldn’t be here—Cas should never have been taken.

Dean won’t hesitate to die here if it means Cas can walk away unharmed, but he doubts that an offer like that will get him anywhere with these two psychos.

“You son of a bitch,” Ruby says, kicking Dean in the back. He winces because her shoe is pointed— _ow_. “We should start with the angel, since Dean’s so eager.”

“No,” Dean manages.

“I don’t think you deserve a say anymore,” Ruby says.

“Oh no, we should definitely give them a say,” Meg says. She walks past Dean and over to Cas, running a bloodied fingertip down his cheek. Cas immediately jerks his head away from her, but Dean’s gut still twists with rage.

“Let’s talk about this,” Cas says, voice low and unbelievably steady.

“Yes, why don’t we?” Meg says, looking over at Ruby. Dean can’t see Ruby’s face, but she must nod or show some form of agreement, because Meg says, “Sam, Dean, it’s up to you two to decide which omega we kill first. But here’s the catch—the first will die quickly and painlessly, and the other will have it drawn out, nice and long.”

Dean twists, awkwardly because his hands are still bound behind his back, but he gets a glimpse of Sam, who’s still quiet, breathing hard, eyes locked on Ruby. Shit, this is bad.

“Or we could kill the both of them slowly,” Meg adds facetiously. The blood all over the lower half of her face makes her smile seem even creepier. “It’s your choice, boys.”

“Wouldn’t it better suit your purposes to kill the first one slowly and the second one quickly?” Cas says, and Meg turns toward him again. Fuck, _why_ is he drawing attention to himself?

“What makes you think that?” Meg says.

“The slow kill is more for your audience than it is for the victim,” Cas responds, even as Meg takes out a thin dagger and starts waving it back and forth, gently. “Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to have an audience of three rather than two?”

“The bitch has a point,” Meg says. “So, since you’re the one with all the bright ideas, are you gonna volunteer to go first?”

“No—start with me,” Kevin says. He’s stock-still in his seat, apprehension rolling off him in waves, and fuck, fuck, fuck, this is so messed up.

“You never told us what this was about,” Dean blurts out—anything to buy them some more time.

“Y’know what? He’s right,” Meg says.

“You’re wasting time,” Ruby cuts in.

“Oh, but we should savor this,” Meg says. “At last, we have them right where we want them.”

“So you’ve been after us for a long time, huh?” Dean says.

“ _Ages_ ,” Meg responds. “Tell me, Sam, if you’re still in there somewhere—do you recognize me?”

Dean twists to look at Sam again, but his brother is still not moving, not speaking. But there’s no edge of panic to his scent—either Sam is all the way gone, or he’s pretending to be. Dean hopes to god it’s the latter.

“This isn’t gonna be any fun if we can’t snap him out of it,” Meg says to Ruby.

“Oh, I can fix that,” Ruby says, stepping right over Dean and moving to stand behind Kevin’s chair. “Hey, darling. Watch this.”

She draws her own knife, serrated, and grabs onto Kevin’s hair, yanking to expose his neck. Kevin cries out, the scent of fear in the room intensifying even further, and Dean struggles, tries to sit up. The blade pierces Kevin’s skin just at the base of his neck, a small drop of blood welling around the tip, and Kevin hisses.

Then Ruby starts dragging it across, a thin line of red following the path of the knife. Kevin whimpers, helpless, and shit, Dean would tell them to stop immediately, but then they would probably start on Cas instead, and that’s—unacceptable.

“Fuck,” Dean hears from behind him, and it’s definitely Sam’s voice. “Fuck— _stop_.”

“Ah, there he is,” Ruby says, smiling. She takes the blade away from Kevin’s throat, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

But in the next second, Ruby lifts her arm and swings it down in a swift, vicious arc, burying the knife just below Kevin’s right collarbone.

“No!” Dean shouts at the same time as Sam, but they’re both drowned out by Kevin’s scream.

“Don’t be angry with us,” Meg says. “We’re only taking back what was taken from us.”

“What the fuck did we ever take from you?” Dean demands.

“You’re _almost_ asking the right question,” Meg says. “It isn’t what you personally took from us, but what your family took from ours.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean says.

“Fuck, _Dad_ ,” Sam says.

“What?” Dean blurts out.

“Who was Azazel to you?” Sam asks.

“Ah, so even traumatized as all hell, you’re still the smart brother,” Ruby says, smiling. “My sweet little Sammy.”

“Your father took our father away from us, so we’re going to take you away from him,” Meg says.

“You’ve gotta be _kidding_ me,” Dean says. “He already doesn’t have us!”

“But as long as you’re alive, he has something to hope for,” Meg says. “As long as you’re alive, he can say that he still has family.”

“Then let Cas and Kevin go,” Dean says. “They’re not part of our family. You don’t have to kill them.”

“The kid, maybe,” Meg allows, “but we happen to know that Cas here is carrying a little Winchester pup—isn’t he, Dean?”

“Unless you’re suggesting that we cut the baby straight out of him,” Ruby says thoughtfully.

It’s silent for a moment, Dean trying to decide whether or not she’s being serious about it. “You’re not serious,” he says, to get a reaction.

They let Dean steam for a little longer, but finally Meg says, “No. He’s gonna die today, one way or another.”

“All right, enough talk,” Ruby says. “Time to go to work.”

She grasps the handle sticking out of Kevin’s chest, and his breath starts hitching, anticipating the pain. Sam cries out before she can move, though, and Dean sees his brother sprinting over. Meg is quick to react, leaping onto his back, wrapping her arms around his throat, and bringing him to the ground. They roll a few times, grappling with each other.

“You might want to stop, Sam!” Ruby shouts as Sam pins Meg to the ground, one large hand pressed against her throat.

Ruby yanks the serrated blade back out of Kevin, and Dean winces at Kevin’s scream.

Then there’s a loud bang, followed by the pounding of boots against the cement floor as police officers come streaming in. Ruby gives Kevin’s chair a mighty shove to the side before turning tail and dashing away. Kevin crashes into Cas, and they both go down, shouting.

The two officers nearest Ruby get shot in the back, and she slips out of a backdoor that Dean hadn’t even noticed before.

Hands are grabbing at Dean, freeing his wrists, pressing against the wound in his leg, and wow, Dean had almost forgotten that he was shot, too caught up in the situation. He sees Sam trying to shake off a couple police officers. Meg is laughing hysterically even as she is shoved to the ground, a gun ripped from her hands.

Sam breaks free of the men holding onto him and rushes over to Dean, shoving one of the officers aside and pressing a hand to Dean’s cheek. “Shit, Dean,” he says, eyes on Dean’s leg.

“I’m okay,” Dean bites out, even though the pain is really starting to hit him now. “Cas—Cas and Kevin—check on them.”

Sam doesn’t argue, straightening and pushing people out of the way to get at Kevin and Cas.

“I’m fine,” Dean tells the medical personnel who are lifting him onto a stretcher. “Damn it, let me just—”

He wants to see Cas, wants to make sure that he’s okay, that the baby wasn’t hurt in the fall, that they didn’t do anything to him before they tied him up and brought him here, but he doesn’t have the right anymore. He and Cas aren’t family, not legally, and that means Dean wouldn’t be able to accompany Cas to the hospital, even if Cas allowed it.

Dean gets wheeled out of the room.

**FAITH**

At the clinic, Castiel gets directed to a papered exam table where a nurse takes his vitals. He zones out for most of it, thoughts still centered on Dean, on Sam, on Kevin.

He had still been tied to the chair when the officers pushed Dean’s gurney out of the room, but it had probably been for the best—he wasn’t thinking clearly then, and he would’ve done something he’d regret. There are a number of reasons why Dean might have showed up at the storage unit, and worrying about Castiel’s safety is only one possibility.

The nurse has already been gone for a short while when Linda steps into the room. As soon as he sees her, Castiel says, “Dr. Tran, you should be with your son.”

“You really should call me Linda at this point,” she reminds Castiel with a small smile.

“Regardless, you should be with your son.”

“I visited him already. He’ll be all right,” Linda says. “I’m relieved that you both made it out in one piece. Aside from your fall, do you remember any other physical injury you might have suffered?”

“That was all,” Castiel says.

“Then the nurse’s data should be enough for me to go on. Your brother is here, and he’s very anxious to see you.” Castiel nods, so Linda goes to the door and pulls it open. “Come in,” she says, and Balthazar practically bursts through the doorway.

“Cas,” he says, voice shaking.

“I’m all right,” Castiel says, accepting the gentle hand that comes up to touch his temple, his cheek.

“The baby—”

“—is fine,” Castiel finishes. “You can ask Dr. Tran.”

“I’m confident that Castiel and the baby are both fine,” she says. “I’ll give you some time alone.”

“Thanks,” Balthazar says. As the doctor exits the room, Balthazar goes on, “You have no idea how worried I was when I heard that you were in the hospital. Alfie, Inias, and Rachel were still playing moderator with Anna and Naomi when I called, but they should all be on their way now.”

“It’s all right. I have to tell you—” Castiel starts, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and a moment later, it swings open to admit Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel.

“Castiel,” Michael says, stopping right next to Balthazar. “Oh, thank goodness you’re all right.”

“You smell like blood,” Gabriel says, nose wrinkling. “Jesus Christ, were you seriously kidnapped? I thought this might’ve been someone’s idea of a joke.”

“I was kidnapped,” Castiel confirms.

“What did they want for ransom?” Michael asks.

Castiel shakes his head, looks his half-brother in the eye, and lies. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Michael says, frowning. “Didn’t they say anything to you?”

“I wasn’t awake for long,” Castiel responds. “Three others were held with me. They’ll probably know more than I do.”

“But you’re all right,” Lucifer says. “You’re not injured at all?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel says. “I didn’t want to worry any of you—I didn’t realize that the police would call you.”

“Of course they’d call us,” Gabriel says. “We’re your brothers, too.”

Castiel only nods in response, tired.

“I think Cas has had enough excitement for today,” Balthazar says. “I’ll keep him company here, but you probably have things to be doing.”

“Yes—thanks for checking on me,” Castiel says.

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Michael says.

“I will,” Castiel responds.

Michael and Lucifer leave the room, but Gabriel lingers for a moment longer. “Balthazar,” he says, “there’s a meeting that I’d really rather not attend.”

“I’ve represented you at enough meetings, Gabe. I’m taking care of Cas, so why don’t you do your own job, for once?” Balthazar says shortly.

Gabriel frowns at him. “Is that any way to talk to your boss, bro?”

“Maybe not, but I’m talking to you as my brother, ‘bro,’” Balthazar replies.

“I’ll let it slide for now, but if you talk back again, you’re fired,” Gabriel threatens, but he’s grinning, and there’s no weight behind his words.

“No, I’m not,” Balthazar says, and then he goes to the door and pushes Gabriel out of the room. When he’s gone, Balthazar shuts the door and turns back to Castiel, eyes worried. “You lied to them. Why did you lie to them?”

“Balthazar—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Balthazar interrupts. “You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me.”

“I wasn’t going to lie,” Castiel says. “I meant to tell you before they entered, but I need you to promise me that you won’t tell another soul, not until I’ve allowed it.”

Balthazar’s face blanches. “What did they do to you?”

“I really am fine,” Castiel says quickly. “Just promise me.”

“All right—I promise.”

“There were two motives behind the kidnapping, as far as I was involved. The first is irrelevant to you, but the second…” Castiel pauses to take a deep breath. “I have reason to believe that Lucifer reached out to the kidnappers—or that they reached out to him. Either way, an agreement was made that they would kill me and the baby, which would default ownership of the company to the eldest alpha.”

“Wait,” Balthazar says. “You mean to say, Lucifer _hired_ these people not just to kidnap but to _kill_ you?”

“Not quite, but he was apparently willing to compensate them if they did,” Castiel responds. Balthazar remains silent, so Castiel says, “I know that it is hard to believe, but—”

“Oh no, not at all. I believe you, and I fully believe that he is capable of that,” Balthazar cuts in. “But we have no proof.”

“The police took one of the kidnappers alive,” Castiel says. “We’ll just have to see if she talks.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to the Chief of Police about it,” Balthazar says.

“Until then, I need to work out what to do for my statement.”

“I don’t think we’ll be doing a press release about this,” Balthazar says, brows furrowed.

“Not for the press—for the police report,” Castiel says. “They’re allowing me to rest tonight and come to the station tomorrow to give my statement of the events that occurred.”

“Does anyone else know about Lucifer?” Balthazar asks.

“No,” Castiel replies. “At least, I don’t think so. They mentioned it to me when no one else could hear.”

“Then don’t mention it to the police,” Balthazar says. “We don’t want any of it on record. One of our own CEOs, practically ordering a hit on the owner of the corporation? Imagine what that would do to the stock.”

“Yes, not to mention our partnerships,” Castiel says. “This needs to be handled delicately. Can I trust you to do that?”

“Cas,” Balthazar says with a small smile, “you can always trust me.”

Castiel smiles back. “I suppose I can.”

They share a silent moment, and then Balthazar says, “The others will be here soon. Did you want to tell them? Or Rachel, at least?”

“No, not yet,” Castiel says. “I feel prepared to trust them, but I need to vet them for myself, first.”

“Rachel will know that you’re not telling the truth, if you lie about a ransom,” Balthazar says.

“Then we’ll just have to hope that she trusts my judgment as much as you do.”


	10. Convergence

_As days go by, the night's on fire._

* * *

When Kevin finally shows up at the door with two cups of coffee, Sam chuckles and backs up to let him in. “You’re late,” he says.

“Yeah. There was traffic, and then there was a line at Starbucks, so…” Kevin’s voice trails off as he kicks off his shoes, and then he pads across the wood-paneled floor to set the cups down on the coffee table.

It’s been pretty much exactly a month since they started doing these once-a-week get-togethers, and it still feels so new. Kevin sits down on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, and Sam shuts the door before going to sit across from him, but he still isn’t quite sure what to say.

“Where’s Dean?” Kevin asks.

“Out with his friends,” Sam answers. “It’s his birthday, today.”

“Oh. You should’ve said so ahead of time—I could’ve gotten him something.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Sam says, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re not that into the whole gift-giving thing. I mean, if you really wanna get him something, we could go out for a six-pack of beer right now.”

Kevin laughs, and the whole room feels lighter, sweeter. Sam wants to bottle up this feeling, wants to preserve it forever.

“How’ve you been?” Kevin asks. “How’s studying going?”

“Studying is uh, it’s going fine,” Sam says, shrugging. “Kinda hard to get back into it after spending so long without it, but it’s been nice to have something to focus on.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Kevin says.

“I kinda find myself missing the rose garden, actually,” Sam admits. “I never had a garden growing up—y’know, since we were always on the move. It was good to have something of my own that wasn’t gonna go anywhere.”

“My mom’s got a huge backyard,” Kevin says. “Not that I’m trying to imply anything,” he adds quickly. “Just, if you wanted to start a garden, I could ask her to leave a plot open for you.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam says. “I think I’d rather wait ‘til I have a place of my own. _If_ I ever have one.”

“You will,” Kevin says. “I mean hey, you’ve just gotta pass the bar exam, and then you can get a job.”

“One background check is all anyone would have to do to find out that I spent the last two years at a rehab facility, though,” Sam says.

Kevin shakes his head. “That won’t matter. All that matters is that you’re clean now, and you’re gonna stay clean. People love a redemption story, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sam says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

They pause to drink their coffee, and then Kevin asks, “Any word on Castiel? I mean, apparently my mom is overseeing his pregnancy, but she refuses to talk to me about it—doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I haven’t heard anything outside of that press conference announcing the pregnancy,” Sam says. “I don’t really follow the stock market, but I heard that Sacre Corp’s stock has actually been going up since confirmation of Castiel’s gender went wide.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, too,” Kevin says with a quick smile. “But what about Dean? How’s he been?”

“He’s acting like everything’s fine, but it isn’t,” Sam says, because there’s no point in lying about it. “He still hasn’t been straight with me about what exactly happened between him and Castiel. I snooped through some of his stuff today, and turns out they were legally mated, though.” Frowning, he adds, “He didn’t even bother to tell me about it when it happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin says.

“Probably thought I was too unstable to handle it or something,” Sam says.

“Maybe he just hadn’t had the opportunity,” Kevin replies. “Do you know how long they were mated?”

“Not long. I don’t think it was even a month,” Sam says.

“Then that’s it—they probably split up before Dean felt ready to tell you,” Kevin concludes. “Shit, that’s a really short amount of time, though.”

“It just bothers me that he never even mentioned Castiel’s name to me,” Sam says. “It doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t have just mated someone out of the blue, so they had to have known each other for a while. Dean’s not one for making big commitments like that.”

Kevin nods. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with you on that. I’ve never assessed Dean professionally, but even as his friend, I can see that trust doesn’t come easily, for him.”

“I feel like I need to talk to Castiel about it—he’d probably be more straightforward than Dean has been.”

“You wouldn’t feel uncomfortable bypassing Dean like that?”

“I just know that it’s… easy to back yourself into a corner without even noticing,” Sam says. “You get stuck in one spot, and you can’t see a way out of it, and you’d be fine if someone could just—just point you in the right direction. These days, I get the sense that Dean’s going through that.”

“Do you think it would have helped if someone had done that for you?” Kevin asks.

Sam smiles down at the coffee cup in front of him. “I thought you were done being my psychiatrist.”

“What, I can’t ask as a friend?”

“Kevin…” Sam stops, hesitant, and watches as Kevin takes another sip of coffee, probably fully aware that Sam needs more time. Kevin has a sense for that sort of stuff, seeing as it’s kind of his job. At length, Sam gets his words in order and asks, “When you say ‘friend,’ what do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m willing to maintain a platonic relationship with you,” Kevin says. “You and I are the only ones who can define the relationship between us. I know that you said—”

He stops short there, a pinched expression crossing his face, and shit, Sam knows exactly how it got there, knows that he was the one who did that.

But before Sam can say anything, Kevin starts over, “You said you didn’t feel the same way, but it doesn’t change what I feel and what I believe. So whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“Kevin, I’m not—I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“I’m broken,” Sam says. “I mean, you’ve done a bang-up job of patching me back up, but I don’t think I’ll ever be whole again. You deserve better than that.”

Kevin glares at him across the coffee table, and Sam can only think that his anger is just as breathtaking as his happiness.

But when he speaks, his words are measured, calm.

“There is no such thing as a person who stays whole for their entire life,” Kevin says. “People fall in love and fall out of love. They make mistakes. They hurt others and get hurt in return. They fall apart. But what’s amazing is that they can pick themselves back up again. They’ll have scars, and maybe they won’t be ‘whole,’ as you say, but they’ll be all the more beautiful for it.”

The words may refer to people in general, but it’s clear that Kevin means his words to be about Sam. Try as he may, though, Sam just doesn’t see what Kevin does.

“What do you think my job is about, Sam?” Kevin says, softer. His hand comes to rest over Sam’s wrist, and Sam’s gaze flicks up instinctively, only to find Kevin’s large, brown eyes fixed on him, so much wiser than his youthful features would suggest. As though reading Sam’s mind, Kevin says, “I may be young, but I’m not naïve. I’ll bet I’ve seen just as many messed up people as you have, if not more. But I’ve also seen their capacity to recover, to heal. If every one of them that makes it out of Silver Reflections is worthless, then what is the point of me going to work every day?”

Sam shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, lets Kevin’s scent carry him for just a moment.

“Sam, are you even listening?” Kevin asks a beat later.

Sam huffs a laugh at that and says, “Sorry, I didn’t hear a word you just said.”

The mock-indignant look on Kevin’s face makes Sam’s chest well up with some unnamable emotion, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward, kissing his lips. Kevin goes stock still, and when Sam draws back, the first things he sees are Kevin’s eyes, wide with surprise, or wonder, almost.

Despite what Kevin might believe, Sam doesn’t deserve that reaction. But he’ll take it, for as long as Kevin is willing to give it to him.

“Sam,” Kevin says, licking his lips, “are you sure?”

“I gotta trust you to know what you want, right?” Sam says.

The smile that lights up Kevin’s face after Sam finishes speaking is probably Sam’s favorite expression yet, and he savors it right up until Kevin leans in for another kiss.

**FAITH**

After his conversation with Sam, Kevin leaves the apartment building in high spirits—it’s like he’s filled to bursting with sunshine. God, he feels like he’s _floating_.

He has never been in love before, but if this is what it feels like, he doesn’t think he ever wants to be out of love again.

Before leaving, he’d told Sam that he was heading over to his mom’s—after all, the fact that Mom lives in the city is part of the reason why it hasn’t been much of a hassle to come see Sam for half an hour or so every weekend. He’d promised to at least ask his mom for Castiel’s contact info, because Mom may not be allowed to talk about her patient, but if Kevin can help Sam go directly to the source, then Mom won’t have to say anything.

He finds a space in the parking lot and is on his way over to the entrance of the hospital when he sees Castiel himself coming out the doors. The omega doesn’t see him at first, seemingly lost in thought, but Kevin jogs toward him and calls his name to draw his attention.

“Oh, Kevin,” Castiel says when Kevin reaches him. “I heard from your mother that you’d recovered, but it’s nice to see it with my own eyes.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says. “I wanted to ask after you, but Mom wouldn’t tell me anything. Rules.”

Castiel starts to smile, and then he looks over Kevin’s shoulder and shakes his head. “It’s all right, Bartholomew,” he says, and Kevin turns to see someone—tall, beta, male, with a severe expression and a neat comb over—approaching quickly.

“Bodyguard, huh?”

“More like a glorified chauffeur,” Castiel says, smiling. Kevin laughs lightly, and then they fall silent. “Well,” Castiel says eventually, “it was good to see you.”

“Actually, would you mind if I—I mean, I was wondering if you had time to talk,” Kevin says.

“I suppose I do. I don’t have any more appointments today,” Castiel says. “Bartholomew, go ahead and take the car back to the office. I’ll walk home.”

“I could drive you,” Kevin offers.

“No, it’s all right. Your mother suggested that I take frequent walks, in my condition.”

Bartholomew steps a little closer to say, “Sir, your brother insisted that I—”

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel says. “They can’t take me straight off the street, can they?”

Kevin refrains from making the point that he was taken right off the street. Sam and Dean’s apartment is in a quieter part of town, anyway. There are enough people around here that Castiel should be fine taking a short walk.

Bartholomew looks doubtful, but he nods stiffly and turns away.

“I can walk with you, if you like,” Kevin says. “Just for a short while—I’ve gotta meet up with my mom.”

“All right,” Castiel says.

Kevin follows Castiel out of the parking lot and to the sidewalk, trying all the while to come up with a respectful way to segue into a conversation about Dean.

“What did you want to talk about?” Castiel asks after a moment. “If you’re curious about Meg and Ruby, I know only that Meg has refused to cooperate with the police thus far, and that Ruby remains at large.”

“Oh—good to know, I guess,” Kevin says, shuddering a little. If he lets himself, he can still feel the jagged edges of the blade slicing through his flesh, sparks of white-hot pain lancing through him, so he grits his teeth and shoves the memory away as best he can.

“Judging by your response, I assume that was not your intended topic of conversation,” Castiel says.

“No, it wasn’t,” Kevin admits. “I was gonna try and back into this, but uh, I really don’t know how. So I’m just—gonna ask.” When Kevin looks to his left, Castiel just nods, so he asks, “What’s the deal between you and Dean?”

Castiel’s expression immediately shutters, the friendly openness wiped from his features.

“That bad,” Kevin says, blinking with surprise.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Castiel says.

“Sam and I are worried about Dean,” Kevin says.

“Then speak with him about it. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain his motivations far more clearly than I will,” Castiel says.

“What did he do that was so unforgivable?” Kevin persists. “Whatever happened between you two, your feelings for each other aren’t dead. I was there in that storage locker—I know what I saw.”

“Dean didn’t come for me,” Castiel says. “He was there for his brother.”

“You don’t sound convinced of that,” Kevin points out.

“You have no context,” Castiel says. “You’re in no position to cast judgment on my decisions regarding Dean Winchester.”

“Then give me context,” Kevin says.

“I don’t want to.”

“I think you do want to,” Kevin says. “I’m a psychiatrist. Part of my job is being able to tell when someone wants to talk about something, even if they deny it on the surface.”

Castiel stops walking. “I never sought your counsel, Kevin,” he says. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I think you’d do better speaking with Dean, if you want the truth. I’m not—hinting that you should force me into talking about it. I really, honestly do not want to discuss it.”

“All right,” Kevin relents. “I can respect that. But Castiel, Dean cares for you—deeply. Before you try to tell me that I’m wrong, consider the fact that I went into that room without ever seeing the two of you interact before. Sometimes, things are clearer from the outside.”

“Sometimes, maybe,” Castiel answers. He smiles quickly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you for your time, but I’d like to go home, now.”

“Yeah, okay. Have a safe walk,” Kevin says.

Castiel nods and continues down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. Kevin watches him for a moment before turning to go back to the hospital.

Castiel doesn’t want to be helped—at least, not by Kevin, so there is nothing more to do for him.

Putting those thoughts aside, Kevin contemplates telling Mom about his progress with Sam. No, it’s too early. Better to wait until they’re steadier, until they’ve gained their footing. When Sam is ready, Kevin will introduce him to Mom.

**FAITH**

“We need to get you laid,” Bela says. “It’s been months, and you’re _still_ moping.”

“I am not _moping_.”

“You’d think you’d be happier on your birthday, though,” Charlie says. “We’re already on dessert, and I don’t think you’ve actually laughed once.”

“Precisely,” Bela says.

“Lay off him,” Benny says.

“ _Thank_ you,” Dean says, clapping Benny on the shoulder because he is Dean’s only _real_ friend, and everyone else is an asshole.

Switching topics, Charlie asks, “Is Sam doing okay?”

She is one of the few people who have actually met Sam, because she stopped by two weeks ago with an extra laptop for him. She works in IT at Richard Roman Enterprises, and apparently this wasn’t even the first laptop that she filched without being penalized for it—she takes home the laptops that her supervisors deem unfixable and fixes them up herself.

Dean still isn’t convinced that Charlie didn’t sell her soul for all this tech expertise.

“He’s better,” Dean says. “He started studying for the bar exam, so he’s got a project to work on—I think it’s done him a load of good. Still burns everything he tries to cook, though.”

“You should have brought him along today,” Bela says.

“He had something else going on,” Dean says.

“Shame,” Bela says. “Charlie said he was very pleasant on the eyes.”

“You don’t even swing that way,” Dean says, frowning.

“Just because I don’t find male alphas arousing doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the aesthetic.”

“Speaking of male alphas, though,” Benny says, “Crowley has been asking after you.”

“He already screwed me over once. Does he seriously think I’d want to go back and work for him now that I don’t even need that kind of money anymore?” Dean says.

“Crowley _is_ an arrogant bastard,” Bela says.

“Has he called you?” Benny asks.

“Just once, two months ago,” Dean says. “Haven’t heard from him since.”

“I think he’s just grabbing at straws because Victor is officially out,” Bela says.

Poking Bela in the side, Charlie says, “You’d better take me to someplace better than Italy when we go on our honeymoon.”

“Please. As though I’d ever let _Victor_ outspend me,” Bela says, rolling her eyes.

“That’s my girl,” Charlie says, beaming. “Anyway, what’re we doing after this?”

“I’ve got a shift at the salvage yard, actually,” Dean says before anyone can suggest anything.

“Aw, you’re kidding,” Charlie says. “Well, we’ve gotta get everyone here to sing you happy birthday before you leave.”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Dean protests even as Charlie waves to catch the waiter’s attention.

So Dean reluctantly sits through a rendition of the Happy Birthday song before bidding his friends goodbye and getting out of there. Once outside, he takes a few breaths of fresh air, relieved to be alone, at least for a little while. As much as he likes his friends, lately he’s always felt strained around them.

He’s felt that way around everyone, really.

He heads toward his car, parked a ways down the street because the restaurant they chose didn’t have a parking lot.

Not a minute later, Dean catches sight of a familiar figure across the street from him and abruptly stops walking, because holy crap, that’s _Cas_ across the street, wrapped up in that stupid coat, and god, how many months along is he now? He’s gotta be over four months now—shit, maybe he’s started showing already, and it’s just hidden under the coat.

Fuck, Dean misses him so much, wants more than anything to call out to him, but Cas made it clear that he never wanted to see Dean again, and Dean will honor that.

And then Cas happens to look to his right, eyes passing over Dean at first before zeroing in, and oh—yeah, Cas definitely just locked eyes with him.

Fuck—Dean’s gotta go.

**FAITH**

Castiel is lost in thought, fingers shoved deep into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold as he continues down the street. He keeps hearing Kevin’s words in his mind, can’t stop himself from replaying everything he can remember about being held hostage, trying to look at every one of Dean’s actions from a more objective standpoint.

It is difficult to be objective when he needs to be strong. Castiel knows his heart will run away to Dean as soon as he loosens the reins on it, so he needs to keep it locked down securely.

It’s a losing battle, but at least Castiel can control his mind and his actions, if not his unruly heart.

He looks up and out at the street, watching the passing cars, the other people going about their business, and—

That’s Dean, staring right back at him.

Castiel slows to a stop, heart suddenly pounding hard and fast in his chest. Dean looks stricken, haggard, and Castiel wonders if it is his doing.

As soon as Dean sees that Castiel is looking back, he turns away, hurrying on down his side of the street.

Castiel only allows him to take two steps before checking the traffic and bolting across the street. Cars honk at him, but he pays them no heed, making it to the other side without incident. Dean storms over to him in a fury, all traces of guilt or self-loathing gone in the face of Castiel’s stupidity, and Castiel really _has_ been foolish, because Dean—Dean has been true to him all along, hasn’t he?

“ _How could you be so fucking stupid?!_ ” Dean is barking in his face, hands gripping Castiel’s shoulders and shaking him lightly, but all Castiel can do is smile. “What if you’d been hit by a goddamn car?”

Castiel reaches up and claps a hand over Dean’s mouth, silencing him, and says, “We should start over.”

Dean’s eyes go wide, like he’s just remembered himself, reality fading back in as the impulsiveness of the moment ebbs away. “Fuck,” Dean says, muffled by Castiel’s hand. He releases Castiel’s shoulders and takes a step back to put some distance between them.

“Dean?” Castiel says when Dean remains silent.

“Sorry. I’m just—processing. You want to start over?”

“That is what I said.”

Dean looks at Castiel with enough yearning that Castiel thinks he can’t possibly be faking it. He’d felt betrayed before, but now it seems he’s been the unreasonable one. It doesn’t matter how their relationship started—all that matters is that it _did_ start, and that it _was_ real.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” Dean asks at last, hesitant.

Castiel smiles. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned at the end of Pyres of Varanasi (Ch. 7), the lyric at the beginning of this chapter does not come from "Convergence;" instead, it is borrowed from "Hurricane."


	11. Northern Lights

_We waited for the dawn to come and sang a song to save us all._

* * *

Castiel minds the stove, on which a saucepan of pie filling is cooking. He had a new oven installed over the weekend, and he figured he’d bake something from scratch to christen it. He may not be the best cook, but baking is simpler, much more straightforward.

Castiel would like to say that his choice of pastry has nothing to do with the fact that Dean happens to love pie, but then he’d be lying.

It is unbelievable how quickly things change. If someone were to tell Castiel a month ago that he would be starting fresh with Dean, he never would have believed it. Yet just last week, Castiel sat down to dinner with Dean, and after a slightly rocky beginning, they’d fallen back into rhythm, as though they’d never split up.

There are subtle differences, though.

On the surface, Dean acts the same, but Castiel can tell that he’s wary in a way that he wasn’t before. Castiel may have been the one deceived in the beginning, but it has become clear to him that Dean was the one hurt worse by the split. Castiel has had lifelong experience keeping his head clear in emotionally fraught circumstances, and denying his heart was—not _easy_ , but manageable. Acceptable.

Or perhaps something really _is_ wrong in Castiel’s head, as so many people try to tell him. After all, omegas are supposed to be more attuned to their emotions, more easily swayed by them than alphas or betas.

But if something is wrong with Castiel, he thinks as he removes the saucepan from the heat and goes to stir in the rest of the ingredients, then maybe Dean has the opposite affliction. Dean seems to feel things far more keenly than any other alpha Castiel knows. He certainly shows far more empathy than Castiel’s alpha half-brothers. And Naomi and Anna and Uriel, for that matter.

Now that he’s thinking about it, Castiel wonders if it is because of his upbringing—or lack of upbringing, rather. Dean has been more detailed about his past in the last week, and Castiel has learned that he spent most of his childhood on the road with his father, living in substandard motels and eating cheap diner food. They’d spend days at a time on the road, and then Dean’s father would leave his children in a motel room while he continued his wild goose chase. Castiel suspects that Dean had to take on a more motherly role, looking after his younger brother’s needs in the absence of any parental guidance.

Castiel has always disliked the _politics_ that comes with his family, the stuffiness and propriety that it demands, but in comparison to Dean’s experience, he really has no cause to complain.

Knowing more about Dean has only made Castiel want to take better care of him. Castiel certainly has more than enough money to provide for any sort of lifestyle Dean would like to experience.

The phone rings then, pulling Castiel from his thoughts, and he momentarily abandons the saucepan to go answer it. “Balthazar,” he says, turning on speakerphone as he hurries back into the kitchen. He sets his cell phone down on the counter and grabs his oven mitts to remove the pie crust from the oven, because it’s about time to put the filling into it.

“I have some good news,” Balthazar says. “It seems Meg was finally offered a deal that was good enough for her to spill on Lucifer. The police are going to get a warrant for his arrest—they should be picking him up no more than an hour from now. Two, at most.”

“That is good news,” Castiel says, carefully pouring the pecan filling into the pie crust.

“Mara has already spoken to the DA about Lucifer’s plea deal. The DA has agreed not to link it back to us, so Lucifer will have no reason to believe that we were the ones who put that deal together.”

Castiel reopens the oven and puts the pie back on the rack to finish baking. “Our brother is far from ignorant—he’ll suspect that it was my doing anyway,” Castiel says.

The deal Mara helped them arrange would require Lucifer to plead guilty to a charge less severe than the one he’d be facing otherwise, namely conspiracy to murder. He would then be sentenced to a long stint of house arrest, along with a hefty fine. If Lucifer takes the plea, this can all blow over without a trial, which will minimize damage to public opinion of Sacre Corp.

On the heels of this train of thought, Castiel adds, “Lucifer going down quietly benefits me greatly.”

“It’ll be the best case scenario for him too, though,” Balthazar points out. “His only other alternative is to go to jail. Meg is in custody, and she’s already told the police that he wanted you dead. Even if Lucifer doesn’t take the plea and we go to trial, there’s simply no way he’s ever going to win over a jury. I mean—they just have to hear that you’re pregnant and that Lucifer was trying to kill you _and_ your unborn baby, and he’ll be done for.”

“I suppose so,” Castiel says. They went over this a number of times when he, Mara, Balthazar, and Naomi were putting together a story to tell the press about Lucifer stepping down, but it is still a relief to hear it being said. Lucifer won’t be able to get away with this, no matter what he does, and Castiel is glad of it.

“How are things going with Dean?” Balthazar asks, and Castiel starts, surprised—he’d almost forgotten that Balthazar was still on the line.

“Surprisingly all right,” Castiel says. “He’s coming over for dinner, soon.”

“That sounds a little better than just ‘all right,’” Balthazar says.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I did not intend to have sex with Dean tonight,” Castiel says.

“Cas, I was teasing.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

There’s a brief pause, but Castiel feels no pressure to fill the silence. He may have forgiven Balthazar for what he did, but he isn’t prepared to put up with Balthazar’s flippant attitude, when it comes to his relationship with Dean.

Finally, Balthazar says, “Sorry. I’ll call if I get any more updates—or would you rather get texts, since you’ll be busy with Dean?”

“Texts would be better,” Castiel decides.

“I’ll text you, then. Bye, Cas.”

Castiel ends the call and rests a moment to gather his thoughts before going about preparing tonight’s main course.

**DREAMS**

Sam sits down in the chair right in front of the window pane, scooting a little to his right so that Dean can pull up a chair. The guards go back to their stations, and then the door on the other side of the glass opens, inaudible to Sam and Dean.

A guard walks in, followed by a man in an orange jumpsuit, and crap.

Oh, crap, that’s _Dad_.

He looks so much older than Sam remembers, so much wearier.

Dean is stiff as a fucking board on Sam’s left, so Sam grabs the phone, waiting for Dad to sit down across the glass from them. He doesn’t even look surprised to see them, but then, Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dad surprised by anything.

“Hey, Sam,” he says after picking up the phone. His voice is rough, scratchy, and Sam wonders if it’s because he doesn’t talk much anymore.

“Hey, Dad,” Sam says, switching the phone to his left hand so that Dean can lean in and listen if he wants to. “How’re you holding up?”

Dad shrugs. “I’m all right—handling myself, same as always. You? Last I heard, you’d just graduated from law school.”

Sam bites his lip. “Yeah, that didn’t end up panning out,” he says. “It’s—a long story.” Then, frowning, he looks over at Dean, because Dean said that he hadn’t visited Dad since he got thrown inside.

“It wasn’t me,” Dean says.

The phone must pick up his words, or maybe Dad just guessed what Dean said, because he explains, “Bobby used to visit now and then. It’s been a couple years since the last time, but we weren’t the best of friends, anyway.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam says.

He falls silent then, unsure what else to say—he doesn’t actually _have_ anything to say. He’d sort of thought that the words would come to him when he finally saw Dad, but… he’s got nothing.

“Can you put Dean on the phone?” Dad asks, as though he hardly dares to hope. It’s hard to tell—usually scent is the biggest indicator of emotions, but the glass wall between them cuts that off effectively, and Sam can only rely on Dad’s tone of voice, a tiny bit distorted over the line.

“Uh—I don’t think—”

But Dean takes the phone with a huff and says, “Hey, Dad.”

“Dean,” Sam can barely hear Dad say. “It’s so good to hear both of your voices again.”

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out for a long moment. And then he says, quietly, “Yeah—yours, too, Dad.”

“Tell me what you’ve been doing—Dean, are you still working for Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Sam’s studying to pass the bar.”

Dad looks at Sam with some concern, and with a combination of careful listening and lip-reading, Sam gathers that Dad’s next words are, “I’ve got time for that long story of yours, if you’re willing to tell it.”

“Maybe another time,” Sam says, leaning a little closer to Dean so that the receiver will catch the words.

Dad nods. Then he asks, “You got any significant others? Do I have grandkids yet?”

Dean actually laughs at that, but it sounds more hysterical than it does genuine. Crap, Dean is actually gonna be a _father_. It’s so easy for Sam to forget, because he’s only seen Cas a grand total of two times, and that’s counting the brush they had with Meg and Ruby.

“Is that a yes, Dean?” Sam hears Dad say.

“We’re uh, expecting,” Dean says. “But it’s—uh, it’s complicated.”

Dad smiles. “Everything’s complicated.”

“Yeah, you said it,” Dean agrees. After a pause, he says, “Maybe I’ll—maybe I’ll bring him around to visit you, sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Dad says. “How ‘bout you, Sam?”

Dean passes the phone back over so that it’ll be easier for Sam to answer, and he says, “My situation is… still complicated, but not in the same way that Dean’s is.”

“Vague,” Dad comments.

“Yeah well, if you were out here instead of in there, you’d be around for the details,” Sam says. He almost regrets the words, realizing only after they’ve left his lips that he might get a negative reaction. But Dad barely even bats an eyelash, and Sam supposes he should have expected that, given Dad’s unruffled attitude.

Suddenly, Sam wants to know if the guy that raised them—or _didn’t_ raise them, as it were—is still in there somewhere, dormant. He remembers Dad had been easy to anger, especially when Sam and Dean questioned his mission. He remembers lots of fights, remembers being yelled at a lot.

“Did you know that Azazel had two daughters?” Sam asks.

Dean’s head whips toward him, and he doesn’t have to say a word—Sam knows the question that Dean wants to ask him: what the fuck do you think you’re doing?

“I did,” Dad says. “The older one was named Meg. The younger was… I don’t know, some kind of a gemstone. Sapphire or something.”

“Ruby,” Sam supplies.

“That’s the one,” Dad says.

“Fuck,” Dean says. “Dad, you should’ve fucking _told_ us there was a chance that some psychotic bitches would come after us for revenge.”

Dad’s eyes widen, and he asks, “Is that why you finally decided to come here?”

“No,” Sam says. “But you—damn it, Dad, if you’d kept us in the goddamn loop, then I—”

Then Sam would’ve known to turn tail the minute he heard Ruby’s name. He wouldn’t have fallen for her, wouldn’t have had to go through all the shit he went through.

For fuck’s sake, he could’ve been a successful lawyer—he’d probably be one right now, if he hadn’t been played by them. And he _was_ played by them, not just Ruby. The day Kevin and Cas were taken hostage, Meg had asked Sam whether or not he recognized her. He hadn’t realized what she was talking about until late that night, in the hospital with Dean: _Meg_ was the mugger that Ruby had “saved” him from.

They’d had it all planned from the fucking beginning.

“I didn’t think I’d have to remind you, but you wanted nothing to do with any of it,” Dad says slowly, voice cutting through Sam’s thoughts. “If I thought you would’ve listened, then I would’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Sam admits, tired. “Yeah, you’re right.”

A voice in the back of Sam’s mind pipes up then to remind him that if he hadn’t met Ruby, then he probably would never have met Kevin.

They say everything happens for a reason, and hell, maybe they’re _right_.

“Time’s up,” a guard says, coming toward Sam and Dean.

At the same time, the door behind Dad opens again, and two men step through the doorway. One of them says something, but Dad doesn’t react to it.

“It was good to see you again,” Dad says, and Sam thinks he sees tears in the old man’s eyes.

He’d almost thought that Dad was beyond any emotions that didn’t involve hatred or resentment—the loving, caring part of Dad died with Mom, and Sam never got to meet him. But some shred of it must still be buried down there somewhere, because Dad’s hand is definitely shaking when he goes to hang the phone up.

Was all that composure an act?

But it’s too late to ask—Dad has already gotten up and walked out of the room. Sam hangs the phone up and gets to his feet, waiting to be escorted out of the visiting room by two heavily armed guards.

They’re silent as they head back to the Impala, lost in their own thoughts. Most of the car ride back to the city passes by wordlessly too, and Sam thinks about what he’s gonna do for dinner tonight, since Dean is gonna be at Cas’s house. He’d offered to bring Sam, but Sam knows that it’s supposed to be a date. He’s not about to crash one of Dean’s dates with Cas, not when things still seem so delicate.

“So have you thought some more about moving in with Kevin?” Dean asks. “I mean—it seems pretty quick, but technically, you guys _have_ known each other for more than two years, now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says. He’d been mostly surprised when Kevin suggested it, but god, some part of him had almost _expected_ it, somehow.

“What about it, then?” Dean prods.

“I’ve gotta think about it some more,” Sam says. Chuckling, he goes on, “Y’know, it’s stupid, but I… I feel like I should be the one providing for Kevin, and not the other way around.”

Dean laughs. “That _is_ stupid. You’ve been off your feet for a while—you’re allowed to accept help until you can support yourself.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Dean? What do you think I’ve been doing at your place?” Sam says, only a tiny bit irritated.

“Well sure, but I’m your brother. Moving to stay with Kevin would be different.” Before Sam can speak, Dean says, “Yeah, yeah, you know that, too. I got it.”

“Good.”

A beat later, Dean says, “If things work out with Cas, I’ll be moving into his house. Christ, I can’t even imagine…”

“Oh, right. Where does he live?” Sam asks.

“Oh, y’know, just a really wealthy neighborhood. His house isn’t exactly a mansion, but it’s huge. There’s no way Cas would ever move into my crappy apartment. When I was—at that other job, I had a nicer place to keep up appearances, but Jesus, even that would’ve been crap in comparison.”

“I figured,” Sam says, tactfully biting back his comment about Dean’s “other job.”

He already essentially knows what it was—has known for over a year—and he doesn’t understand why Dean won’t just say it. Is he ashamed? Does he think that Sam will judge him for it?

Suddenly, Dean groans. “Aw, fuck, Sam,” he says. “If we both go through with these moves, we’re gonna be kept alphas, aren’t we?”

Sam bursts into laughter.

**DREAMS**

After dropping Sam off at the apartment, Dean makes the familiar drive over to Cas’s house. He hasn’t been back in the week that he and Cas have been—doing their thing, so the last time he drove here was the night of Cas’s heat, way back in September.

He parks out front and heads up to the door. He knocks before trying the doorknob, except—Jesus fucking _Christ_ , the door’s unlocked.

Dean pushes his way inside, careful to lock the door behind him, and calls out, “Cas? Dude, you left your door unlocked!”

“I know! Left it open for you!” Cas shouts back.

Dean follows his nose to the kitchen, where Cas is taking a pan off the stove and dividing the contents between two plates. “Mm, pan-seared steak, huh? You’re the best.”

“Don’t say that—you haven’t even tried it yet,” Cas says.

“Yeah well, it smells great,” Dean responds, stepping up behind Cas.

It takes him a moment to work up the nerve, still a little unsure of their boundaries, but he takes the last step forward, holding onto Cas from behind, hands resting on the slight swell of Cas’s belly. God, that’s his baby growing in there—he and Cas are gonna be _dads_.

Cas hums and sets the pan back down on the stovetop before turning in Dean’s arms and leaning up slightly to kiss him.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Dean says when they break apart, foreheads pressed together. “I keep thinking that it’s all a dream, that I could wake up any minute and find myself alone in bed.”

Cas nudges Dean’s nose with his own and says, “It’s real, Dean. We’re here, together—you won’t ever have to be alone again. When the baby comes, I doubt you’ll be able to get a moment alone even when you want one.”

Dean smiles at the thought. “God, I can’t wait,” he says. “Is he giving you any trouble?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be a boy, Dean,” Cas says instead of answering Dean’s question. “What makes you think it’ll be a boy?”

“I don’t know. A feeling, I guess.”

“Well, _my_ feeling is that it’ll be a girl,” Cas says.

“Whatever you say, Cas.”

It’s quiet for a while, Dean just taking the time to soak Cas in. They were only really together for something like three weeks, but Dean has missed this, being allowed to hold onto Cas, pull him in whenever he feels like it.

“I treated you unfairly,” Cas says, breaking the silence.

Dean almost cuts him off, but he figures this needs to be said in order for them to move on. One could argue that they’ve already been sorta together for the past week, and it’s been fine, but in order for their relationship to last, they need to sort through everything.

“I never should have punished you the way that I did,” Cas says. “After learning the truth, all I could see was the betrayal—I couldn’t see your regard for me in its own light.”

“Look, Cas, we can apologize back and forth forever. Let’s just choose to stop that here.”

Cas looks at Dean for a moment, considering, before backing out of Dean’s arms and grabbing his hand to lead him out of the kitchen. Dean allows himself to be drawn upstairs, following the familiar path to Cas’s bedroom, and—uh, Cas doesn’t actually mean to fuck right now, does he?

But when they get into the bedroom, Cas leaves Dean just inside the doorway and disappears into his walk-in closet. He returns a moment later with a small, long box—familiar.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathes. “You kept it?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away,” Cas replies. He removes the collar from its container and, like he did just a couple months back, he holds it up to Dean.

It takes Dean a moment to accept, because he’s too busy trying to get past the rioting emotion in his chest. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about the collar this time—this time, it’s _real_ , and Dean thinks he might cry like a fucking baby.

“Fuck. Cas, you—you sure about this? We’ve only been doing this a week.”

“I could never wear another person’s name around my neck, Dean. I know it,” Cas answers.

Swallowing hard, Dean takes the smooth leather piece from Cas and steps forward to fasten it around his neck.

**DREAMS**

Castiel is almost ready to proposition Dean, dinner be-damned, when he hears his phone ringing from downstairs. “That’s probably Balthazar,” he says, only slightly annoyed as he walks past Dean and out of the room. The alpha follows him back downstairs, and Castiel thinks it is probably a good thing that he restrained himself. He did prepare a nice dinner for them, and it’d be a shame for it to go cold while they were otherwise occupied upstairs.

He finds his phone in the kitchen where he’d left it before, and he answers it with, “I thought we’d agreed that you would text with any updates.”

“Apologies, Cas,” Balthazar says, and Castiel can hear cars in the background—is his brother calling from the car or the street? “It’s kind of an emergency,” he goes on. “The police chief just called to tell me that they couldn’t find Lucifer at his residence, or at the office.”

“Oh, no,” Castiel says.

Dean is immediately at his side, one arm winding behind his back to rest on his hip, and Castiel is grateful for his soothing presence. Castiel has no trouble staying grounded, reasonable, but Dean being here makes things so much better. Safer.

“I don’t know for sure that he’s gonna go straight after you, but—better safe than sorry. I’m on my way over,” Balthazar says.

Before Castiel can reply, an unmistakable voice comes from behind him—“Drop the phone.”

Castiel slowly turns, Dean moving with him as he does, and sure enough, Lucifer is standing just past the entrance to the kitchen, gun trained on them.  Castiel can hear Balthazar speaking worriedly and indistinctly even as he drops the phone. Before the phone has hit the ground, Dean has tugged Castiel behind him, shielding him.

“Don’t be foolish, Dean. I have no quarrel with you—you don’t have to die, today.”

“ _No one_ has to die today,” Dean says, adamant. “Jesus, Balthazar said you were a douchebag, but he forgot to mention you were a lunatic on top of that.”

“Keep your mouth shut, Dean,” Castiel hisses—it is _very_ unwise to provoke an angry, armed man when standing between him and his target.

“Step aside, Winchester. I won’t hesitate to kill you to get to Castiel, but why waste an extra bullet?”

“This won’t get you what you want,” Castiel says. “Even if you kill me, the company won’t go to you.”

“No, but I’ll go to jail with the knowledge that our family’s legacy is in the right hands—Michael’s hands.” Eyes on Dean, Lucifer says, “If it’s the unborn whelp you’re trying to protect, it isn’t worth your life. Omega whores are a dime a dozen for you to knock up as you please. But you knew that already, didn’t you, seeing as you were in the business yourself not too long ago.”

Dean growls and almost starts toward Lucifer, and Castiel has to grab onto his arm to hold him back.

“If you leave now, we can pretend that this never happened,” Castiel says. “I won’t file a report saying that you held my mate and me at gunpoint, and that’ll be one less charge for you to face.”

“I don’t think you understand, _dear brother_. I’m not afraid of going to jail,” Lucifer says.

“Dude, with a pretty face like yours, you _should_ be.”

At the new voice, Lucifer turns just enough to look behind him, and Castiel sees that Gabriel is standing just outside the kitchen with a gun of his own.

“Sorry I’m late, kiddo,” Gabriel says, words obviously directed toward Castiel. “Had to rustle up some backup before heading over.”

“Gabriel, what are you doing here?” Lucifer demands.

The gun is still pointed at Dean and Castiel, but Lucifer’s attention is split, and Castiel backs up one step and then another, aiming to reach the counter, where his knife block is. Dean moves with him, always making sure to stay between Castiel and the muzzle of Lucifer’s gun, and Castiel can’t decide whether he is pleased by Dean’s dedication to his safety or furious at Dean’s callous disregard of his own safety.

“I worried you’d pull something like this,” Gabriel says. “We’ve been on a long road, brother, and while I thought it might end here, I never thought you’d actually be dumb enough to go through with it.”

Lucifer’s gaze turns back toward Dean and Castiel, so they hold still. His words, however, are still directed at Gabriel. “We’re supposed to be on the same side—you know why I’m doing this. Why I _have_ to do this.”

“Luce, we have everything that we need. We don’t _have_ to do _anything_ ,” Gabriel says.

“Easy for you to say,” Lucifer responds. “You didn’t spend years working for this company, only for it to be passed on to a kid fresh out of college—an _omega_ , too. Michael understands.”

“Yeah, you think so? His security detail is outside right now, manning the exits, by his order,” Gabriel says. “We’ve got this place surrounded, and the police are on their way, so quit fucking around and put the gun down.”

Castiel isn’t sure whether or not Gabriel is bluffing—he has always had an excellent poker face, and his scent, faint though it is from this distance, gives away nothing. Castiel is inclined to believe that he’s telling the truth.

Apparently, Lucifer comes to the same conclusion, because his gaze shifts to meet Castiel’s, eyes filled with determination. Castiel starts moving even before he hears the gunshot, diving to the side and yanking Dean down with him. Another gunshot immediately follows the first, but Castiel can’t bring himself to look—distracting him from the pain in his side and stomach is the scent of blood, of _pain_ , of _Dean in pain_ , and Castiel sees blood staining the sleeve of Dean’s white shirt.

“Fuck,” Dean curses, turning toward Castiel as though to check on him.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says. “I’m fine.”

With the knowledge that Dean hasn’t been fatally wounded, Castiel gives himself leave to look at the rest of the room. Lucifer is lying on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his thigh, and Gabriel is standing above him, Lucifer’s gun several yards away from him—maybe it flew out of his hand as he fell, or maybe Gabriel kicked it away from him when he was on the ground.

Either way, the threat has been neutralized, and Castiel heaves a sigh of relief.

“Christ,” Balthazar says, appearing in the entrance.

“Call an ambulance,” Castiel says.

“Already on it,” Gabriel says, brandishing his phone at Castiel before pressing it back to his ear.

“How did they get here before me?” Balthazar asks. “Michael’s men were stationed all around the house—wouldn’t even let me in the goddamned door until I called Michael for _permission_.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers. “Ask him when he’s off the phone.”

“You’ve made a huge mistake, Gabriel,” Lucifer says, livid.

“Between you and Gabriel, _you_ are the one going to jail,” Balthazar says. “If anyone has made a huge mistake, it’s you.”

“I’m sorry about all this,” Castiel says to Dean in the meantime, grabbing a clean towel from one of the drawers for Dean to hold against his arm.

“Hey, you don’t choose your family, right?” Dean says. He seems to be in a surprisingly good mood, given that he was just shot by his mate’s power-hungry half-brother.

Mate. Castiel has been using that word, but he and Dean haven’t even agreed on it—not in words, at least. The collar around Castiel’s neck is indication enough for him, but he can’t say for sure what Dean thinks of it. He collared Castiel without protest, but he must have reservations about this.

But when Castiel looks away from Dean’s arm and up at his face, he sees a small smile, quiet and fond, and maybe it really is _that_ easy.

**DREAMS**

Kevin hasn’t left town yet when Sam calls, frantically saying that he needs a ride to the hospital, so of course Kevin agrees to swing by Dean’s apartment and pick him up. In the car, Sam tells Kevin that Dean got shot again, this time by one of Cas’s half-brothers, apparently. Sam doesn’t know which one it is, and Kevin doesn’t remember all the names of the Sacre CEOs, anyway.

Sam gets out of the car as soon as Kevin has it parked, and it takes Kevin a second to catch up with him after making sure the doors are locked.

“I’m looking for a Dean Winchester—I’m his brother,” Sam is telling the receptionist.

“Right. Just down that hall, and turn to the right. You’ll know when you see it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam mutters, walking away before he can get a response.

Kevin hurries on after him, and when they round the corner, there’s a crowd of people outside one of the doors, which—well. Now Kevin knows what the receptionist meant. None of them have familiar faces, and there are two men, definitely alphas, bulky, standing on the opposite side of the hall from the throng of people, looking decidedly displeased.

Sam goes straight over to the gaggle of people by the door and says, “Hi—is Dean Winchester in there? I’m his brother.”

“ _Oh_ ,” someone says, “let the guy in to see his brother.”

Kevin looks around at all these unfamiliar faces and wonders what the hell they’re all doing here. Dean has never seemed like the type to keep in contact with a ton of friends, and these people are all very well-dressed—don’t look quite like Dean’s choice of company, anyhow.

Then again, he apparently _did_ choose Cas, so.

They get into the room, and Dean’s lying on a hospital bed, with Castiel seated next to him. Three men are standing on the other side of the bed, and a fourth is leaning on the arm of Cas’s chair. Kevin does a double-take when he realizes who is in the room with him—that is definitely Raphael Sacre, state senator.

Well, now he knows why Gloom and Doom are hulking around outside.

“Sammy,” Dean says. “ _And_ Kevin. Hey, people I actually want to talk to. Can the rest of you leave?”

“Sorry,” Sam says. “Tact was never his strong suit.”

“Yes; we figured that out early,” Raphael replies.

“Hey, I think it’s a good thing,” says the shortest man in the room—besides Kevin, of course. Curse of being an Asian guy. “Too much tact takes the fun out of everything.”

“I apologize,” Cas says, getting to his feet. “I should introduce you.” Eyes flicking between Sam and Kevin, he says, “These are my brothers, Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. Lucifer was the one who fired a weapon at Dean today.” Turning slightly, he gestures to the man who is still leaning on the armrest of the chair and adds, “This is Balthazar, another brother.” Then, turning back to his brothers, he says, “Sam Winchester, and Kevin Tran.”

“Nice to meet you,” Michael says. “Now, I really have lingered long enough. Again, thank you, Dean.”

Dean just shakes his head as Michael leaves, taking with him a group of the people standing outside. Kevin wonders if meetings were interrupted for this, and if so, what kinds of meetings they were—it’s Saturday evening. CEOs tend to be able to set their own schedules, but surely they would _avoid_ working on the weekends, right?

It’s unimportant, though, so Kevin puts his musings aside and returns his attention to the others.

Raphael thanks Dean as well, and this time Dean almost looks uncomfortable. Then Raphael leaves, taking almost everyone else with him—only two people remain out in the hall, probably Gabriel and Balthazar’s assistants. Or maybe they’re chauffeurs or bodyguards or something.

“If anything comes up and you need me to testify, I’ll be there,” Gabriel says. “But I’ll head out now, let you guys talk.”

“You still haven’t told us how you beat me to the house,” Balthazar says.

“Easy. Had your phones bugged. Cas’s, too,” Gabriel says, grinning. Pointing between Dean and Cas, he adds, “And my, oh my, the kinky things these two talk about in their private time.”

“Slander,” Dean protests, but he’s smiling.

“You’d better remove them, now that the danger is over,” Cas says. “I’ll give you until Monday before having Bartholomew do a full sweep. If he finds anything, you will not like what I do in return.”

“All right, all right, I’ll take ‘em out. Promise,” Gabriel says, hands held up in a placating gesture. “Good night, guys.”

He exits the room, and the last of the people in the hallway leave with him.

Kevin looks over at Cas’s remaining brother, wondering whether he’ll be staying for this. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel are the names that pop up occasionally, whenever something to do with Sacre Corp ends up in the news. Balthazar, however, is a name that Kevin hasn’t heard before. It’s said that every living family member is currently working for the company, though, so he must be doing _something_ there.

Then again, that could just be another rumor.

“What the hell happened, guys?” Sam eventually asks, pulling up an empty chair.

“Lucifer apparently was working with Meg and Ruby to kill Cas because he wanted the company for himself,” Dean says. “But Cas survived—obviously—so he came to take matters into his own hands.”

“That’s the gist of it,” Balthazar says. “I heard Dean was very brave.”

“Dude, Cas was the one who saved _my_ life,” Dean says, looking back and forth between Sam and Kevin. “His brothers keep thanking me and shit, but I’m pretty sure I’d have been shot clean through the chest if Cas hadn’t gotten me outta the way.”

“I do have excellent reflexes,” Cas says casually, sitting down on the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Holy crap,” Kevin blurts out before he can think better of it, eyes on the thin band around Cas’s neck. “Is that what I think it is?”

Cas looks at Dean before answering, “Yes. I realize that collaring is a bit old-fashioned, frowned upon by those who consider themselves more ‘progressive,’ but I see nothing shameful about it.”

The band is thin, would be easy to conceal underneath a business suit as long as he kept his shirt buttoned and his tie tied. Kevin figures it was probably intentional—it’s one thing to finally confirm his gender to the public, but it’s another to wear something that flaunts his gender as blatantly as a collar.

“I don’t either, but you oughta be careful with it,” Sam says, frowning. “You’re kind of a public figure, Cas.”

“People don’t actually know what I look like,” Cas says, apparently unconcerned.

“Actually, Naomi says that more people have been asking around for access to you, since you’ve never given an official interview before,” Balthazar says. “Now that your gender is out, people have questions.”

“I suppose it only makes sense,” Cas says.

“We can discuss it later, though,” Balthazar says.

“Yes—Naomi should be present for any discussions regarding interviews,” Cas says. “Dean, you should be as well,” he adds.

“What do I have to do with anything?”

“You’re the father of my child, Dean,” Cas says, and the fondness in his words and scent alike make Kevin want to smile. “Of course you have a say in how much I tell the public about my private life— _our_ private life.”

Clearing his throat, Sam stands and says, “Well, I’m grateful you guys made it out of there okay. And Dean, quit getting shot. It makes me worry.”

“Yeah, I’ll try my best,” Dean says dryly.

“It was nice meeting you, Balthazar,” Kevin says.

“Likewise,” Balthazar says.

Kevin leads the way out of the hospital room, followed closely by Sam.

“They look like they’ve fixed whatever it was that went wrong before,” Kevin comments as they leave the building, and Sam hums in agreement.

“Dean says he’s gonna move in with Cas, in the future.”

“Does that mean he’s giving his apartment to you?” Kevin asks—he’ll be a little disappointed if Sam decides to stay in the city, but they can keep up the weekly visits. Maybe after Sam gets more settled, he’ll come to visit Kevin sometimes.

“Actually, I might take you up on your offer,” Sam says, and Kevin’s breath catches in his throat. He’d been so sure that he would have to wait at least a week or two before getting an answer, and he hadn’t even been sure that it would be a yes. “You okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, fine. Better than fine, actually,” Kevin replies. “I just—didn’t know I’d have an answer from you so soon.”

“Well, I figure Dean and Cas are okay again, so even if we screw up once, we should be able to fix it at least once, too,” Sam says.

“I like this optimistic side of you,” Kevin says. “You should let him out to play more often.”

“Aw, but then you’d miss me,” Sam says, grinning.

Kevin smiles back and answers, quietly, “Yeah, I would.”


	12. Depuis le Debut

_I danced with a million devils,_

_Died from a life of sin._

_Made love to a million angels,_

_Murdered a million men._

* * *

Henry Isaiah Winchester is born in mid-May, two weeks after Sam’s birthday.

Cas is prepared for a home birth, did all his homework and brought in a midwife to help with the delivery. Dean is with him the whole way, encouraging him as best he can, and while Dean isn’t the one in pain, he thinks he’s just as relieved as Cas is when the baby finally emerges.

Henry is so small, so soft, and when the midwife passes him to Dean, he’s almost afraid he might break him if he squeezes even a little too hard.

Then Cas takes him, cradling him to his chest for his first feeding, and tells Dean, “Looks like you got your boy. You happy now, Winchester?”

“Ecstatic,” Dean says.

Cas smiles up at him before looking back down at their newborn son, and the next thing he says is, “He’s got your eyes, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, grinning. “Looks like he does.”

**DREAMS**

Balthazar initially refused when Castiel offered him Lucifer’s position as CEO at Sacre Pharmaceuticals, protesting to Castiel that he only had experience running an oil company. But Castiel needed someone he could trust to take the reins, and he didn’t want the new CEO to be internal—it’d be good for the company to have a fresh face.

“I need someone I can trust to make sure that the Pharm isn’t taking on anything it shouldn’t be,” Castiel had said to him. “And there is no one here that I trust more than you. You’ve never disappointed me before—do you really want to start now?”

Balthazar hadn’t had a response to that, and he has been heading up the Pharm in the five months since then. He’s done an excellent job cleaning things up—it turns out the questionable items that Castiel had been trying to investigate were part of a secret division Lucifer had created for shipping, storing, and selling drugs that weren’t FDA-approved.

When Lucifer went to jail and Balthazar took over, most of the people in those positions either quit their jobs or went straight to Balthazar, in the hopes that they would be allowed to stay if they came clean voluntarily. Castiel had advised his brother to keep them on, since they had only been following orders, anyway.

The Pharm is doing very well under Balthazar’s supervision, but Oil has been floundering a little—after so many years of sitting back and letting Balthazar do all the work, Gabriel is apparently out of practice. That’s what Naomi and Rachel reported to Castiel the last time they spoke, at least. Castiel hadn’t paid much attention to Oil before he went on leave because he was so preoccupied with making sure the Pharm would stay afloat, so during his leave, it fell to Naomi and Rachel to ensure that Gabriel got reacquainted with his duties.

Castiel’s leave is up now, though, and he’s glad for it. As much as he has enjoyed the time spent at home with Dean and Henry, his mind has felt stagnant. Family members visited often—Inias and Alfie came almost every other day to see the baby—but they generally refused to discuss business with him, repeatedly telling him to “take it easy.”

Thank goodness that’s over.

“Welcome back, sir,” Hannah says as Castiel steps out of the elevator and onto his floor of the building.

“Thank you, Hannah,” he responds, passing by her to enter his office.

“Someone leaked that you were coming back today,” Hannah says.

“Of course.”

“I had two dozen phone calls asking to schedule an interview in just the last hour. They want to know about the baby, and why you’ve come back to work so soon after having him.”

“Him?” Castiel says. “You haven’t told that to them, have you?”

“Oh—no, of course I haven’t,” Hannah says, shaking her head.

There has been a lot of speculation about whether or not Castiel would actually return after having a child, and despite the times, it appears most people still expect omegas to be ruled by their nurturing instincts more than anything else.

“I’m not accepting interviews,” Castiel says. “If anyone else calls, redirect them to the Red Cross. I believe I heard on the radio this morning that there was major flooding in three states today. There is more to be covered there than there is with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Hannah says, backing out of the office.

The door hasn’t yet closed when Castiel’s first visitor arrives, and he supposes he should have expected Balthazar to be ready to pounce as soon as Castiel arrived.

“Cas. It’s good to see you,” Balthazar says, smiling.

“You saw me just two days ago,” Castiel says.

“But that was different, wasn’t it? It’s good to see you _here_. Right where you belong.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” Castiel says.

“I have a bit of news for you,” Balthazar says. “Not to do with the company.”

“All right.”

“The police found Ruby. Found her body, that is. Cause of death was a drug overdose, but they suspect that it wasn’t self-administered.”

Castiel considers it for a moment. “How long has she been dead? Do you know?”

“Months,” Balthazar says.

“Do you think it could have been…”

“Lucifer, trying to cover his tracks? I think so,” Balthazar says. “In any case, I’m glad that she’s gone.”

“So am I,” Castiel says. He wonders whether or not he should tell Sam. Perhaps he’ll discuss it with Dean tonight, when he gets home.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Balthazar says. “Welcome back, Cas.”

Castiel flashes Balthazar a quick smile, and then Balthazar turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind himself. Castiel walks around his desk and takes his seat but doesn’t turn on the computer just yet, taking a moment to shut his eyes and just breathe in the familiar scent of his office.

This is his temple; this is his battleground.

Oh, it is good to be back.

**DREAMS**

It’s hard to find a job when you’ve been inactive for several years in a row, the earlier years sucked up by drug abuse and the later years spent recovering from the earlier years. Sam has already taken the bar exam, and now he’s just waiting for his results and looking for a temp job in the meantime.

“Any luck today?” Kevin asks, looking up when Sam comes in the door.

“No,” Sam says. “Hey—what’re you doing home so early?”

“Mom wants us to go over for dinner,” Kevin says. “She invited Dean and Cas too, and she says your attendance is mandatory, this time.”

Sam tries not to grimace. “Kevin, I still don’t think I should be meeting your mom.”

“It’s been a couple months,” Kevin says. “We’re doing good, aren’t we? And you’re living here. She’s been bugging me about that for over a month now, Sam.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told her that I moved in, then,” Sam says.

“I _didn’t_. Cas mentioned it, offhand—probably thought it was harmless.”

Sam sighs. “When should we head out?”

“Uh, asap, actually,” Kevin says. Sam frowns, and Kevin comes over to him, a sympathetic look on his face. “If you really don’t wanna go, I can call my mom and say that I’m coming down with the flu or something, and we’re just gonna stay home tonight.”

It’s a tempting offer, but Mrs. Tran _has_ been asking about Sam for a while, apparently, and Sam figures he should get her off Kevin’s back—he wants to make Kevin’s life easier and not harder, after all.

So he says, “Nah, it’s okay. Just let me get changed.”

Kevin smiles and presses a kiss to the corner of Sam’s mouth. “You’re so good to me,” he says.

Sam pulls Kevin back in when he tries to back away, coaxing him into a real kiss, wetter and sloppier and so much better.

They break apart for air a short while later, and Kevin chides, “That’s not going to work, Sam—we’re still going.”

Sam hadn’t actually been thinking along those lines, but he just grins and goes along with it. “Eh, it was worth a try,” he says before going into the bedroom to change into something he’d be more comfortable wearing to dinner.

**DREAMS**

Mom is a really good cook—this Kevin knows, but for dinner with Cas and the Winchesters, she seriously goes all out.

When Sam and Kevin get to the house, Dean and Cas are already at the table, because they’ve probably been told the rules by now—no one is allowed in Mom’s kitchen without her permission. A huge bowl of soup sits in the center of the dining table, and as Kevin gestures for Sam to sit down, Mom emerges with two platters of dumplings, one steamed and the other pan-fried.

“You must be Sam,” she says, setting one platter of dumplings down. Dean is closest to her, so he takes the other one while she goes to shake Sam’s hand.

“Yeah, hey—nice to meet you, Mrs. Tran.”

Mom smiles. “Please, Linda. I’d say that Kevin has told me a lot about you, but he hasn’t told me nearly enough,” she says.

“Oh god, can you not interrogate him at the dining table, Mom?” Kevin says.

“Dude, respect your elders,” Dean chides, kicking Kevin’s foot under the table. “Isn’t that super important to the Chinese?”

Kevin shoots him a dirty look. “It’s a thing, but I’m not Chinese.”

“You are on my side,” Mom says, stern.

But she’s all smiles when she turns back to look at Sam, and Kevin wonders what she thinks of him. _Tall_ , is probably her first impression. It was Kevin’s first, second, and third impression, really.

“I still have fried rice and a few more dishes in the kitchen,” Mom says. “Please, sit. I’ll be right back out.”

Sam makes an aborted move to help, but he must remember what Kevin told him in the car— _don’t even offer, okay?_ —because he comes over to sit on Kevin’s left, across from Cas.

The dinner itself goes surprisingly smoothly. At the end of it, Dean groans and says he is so full that he can’t get up. Mom offers up the guest room, but Cas declines. “We have to get home to Henry,” he says. “Otherwise no one’s ever going to babysit for us.”

Conceding his point, Mom lets them go. Sam and Kevin stay after to help with the dishes, because that’s usually Kevin’s job. This time around, Kevin does the washing, and Sam does the drying, so the work goes by quickly.

Kevin catches Mom watching them, and he can’t help but feel a little anxious, self-conscious.

Did Sam pass, today? Does Mom like him? She was always so easy to read with Channing, but Kevin honestly has no idea what she thinks of Sam, and he can’t exactly ask when Sam’s _right here_.

But at the end of the night, Sam goes out the door first, and when Kevin turns back to say goodbye, Mom gives him a wink and a thumbs up, so he counts it as a success.

**DREAMS**

Dean and Cas get home to find Rachel seated upstairs in Henry’s room, reading a book. She immediately shushes them, but it’s like Henry can sense that his daddies are home, because he sniffs and coos and starts kicking his little feet.

Dean goes over to his crib and picks him up, smiling. “Hey, little guy,” he says.

“Dean, you shouldn’t excite him at night,” Cas says. “We only just got him to start sleeping semi-normal hours.” Dean doesn’t answer, and he hears Cas thanking Rachel for sticking around.

“You’re not excited, are you?” Dean says to Henry, bouncing him up and down a little.

Henry giggles and reaches a hand out, bopping his tiny palm against Dean’s nose.

“Your daddy wants to see you excited? Let’s get excited,” Dean says, shifting his grip and lifting Henry up over his head. Henry squeals, eyes alight with glee, and Dean spins around a couple times, the sound of Henry’s laughter music to his ears.

“Dean! What are you _doing?_ ” Cas says sharply as he reenters the room.

“Aw, just having a little fun,” Dean says, lowering Henry to eye level.

Cas snatches him away, holding him close, and Dean does his best to refrain from even _thinking_ the words, “mama bear.” The last time he said them, Cas refused to talk to him for the rest of the day.

Henry burbles and nuzzles against Cas’s cheek, as though he’s trying to calm him down, and Dean can’t help but laugh. “Cas, he loves flying. We’ve got ourselves a little pilot here.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Cas says, but his lips are twitching, and Dean swoops in to plant a big, sloppy kiss right on his mouth. “Dean!” Cas says, jerking away with a scandalous look on his face. “I’m holding our infant son two inches from my face!”

“What? It’s not like he’s gonna _remember_ ,” Dean says, chuckling.

“God, you’re incorrigible,” Cas says, setting Henry back down in his crib.

“Besides, a kiss is harmless,” Dean goes on, stepping behind Cas and putting his arms around him. Dean rests his chin on Cas’s shoulder and follows his gaze down to Henry, who’s looking right back up at them with his wide, green eyes. “Now if I were to—” Dean stops talking and fastens his mouth to Cas’s throat, sucking hard, with every intention of leaving a big, hard-to-hide hickey, and Cas yelps, shoving at him.

In the crib, Henry starts laughing again, clapping his hands together.

Cas twists out of Dean’s arms and runs for it, and the alpha in Dean perks its head up at the prospect of a chase. Dean lingers just long enough to make sure the door to Henry’s room is securely closed, and then he follows his nose to find his mate, because Dean’s gotta give that hickey a twin on the other side of Cas’s neck.

Dean finds Cas in the downstairs living room, waiting by the couch. When Dean approaches from one side, Cas goes toward the opposite side, a glint in his eye. They dance back and forth on either side of the couch for a moment, and then Dean moves a little too far into the living room, and Cas makes a mad dash for the stairs.

Laughing, Dean races after him. He snatches Cas’s hand just as they reach the landing and spins him around, shoving him into the nearest wall. Cas is panting a little from the run upstairs, and Dean leans forward, breathes him in.

“We’re too close to Henry’s room,” Cas says as Dean starts mouthing along the side of his neck, lips and tongue tracing the mark he left there earlier.

“Don’t wanna move,” Dean says, stepping in closer and lifting Cas’s thighs to bracket his waist. “We’re far enough—his door’s closed.”

Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and says, “If you carry me to the bedroom, I’ll let you knot me.”

Dean groans at the suggestion, crushing Cas into the wall with his body. Linda had said to Cas that he shouldn’t be having any particularly acrobatic sex, and that he shouldn’t take a knot for a while after the birth. She’d added that the decision would ultimately be up to Cas, since his body would know when it felt ready.

It’s been months since Dean last got to tie his mate, and fuck, he almost thinks he could come just _thinking_ about it. He noses at the hollow just below Cas’s jaw, starts rolling his hips just a little, and scents the subtle sweetness of Cas’s slick, hitting the air between them.

“Bed, Dean,” Cas says. “Don’t you want me to be comfortable?”

Grinning, Dean kisses Cas’s lips, a long kiss followed by several shorter ones, before pulling away slightly. “Bed,” he agrees, backing away from the wall and carrying Cas with him.

Cas’s arms go around his neck and shoulders without hesitation, and he practically purrs in Dean’s arms, the low sound vibrating in his chest where he’s pressed right up against Dean. The trek into the bedroom goes by quickly, and Dean sets Cas down on the bed before fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Would it kill you to just wear a fucking t-shirt for once?” Dean says as he gets the shirt open and shoves it to either side, baring Cas’s torso to him.

Cas has been shy about his appearance since the pregnancy, because it took some time for his belly to lose its softness, for his body to return to its pre-pregnancy shape. It’s been a couple months now, and Cas is lean as he ever was, but he still has some lingering stretch marks on his lower belly, and he squirms under Dean’s scrutiny.

“Stop it,” Cas says, grabbing at the sides of his shirt to pull them together, but Dean gathers his hands, pulls them up by his head.

“Don’t hide from me, Cas,” Dean says softly. Cas just sighs, a quiet, unhappy sound, and Dean frowns at him. “Baby, you’re beautiful. Always have been. A couple stretch marks aren’t gonna change that.”

“You’re being manipulated by your biology,” Cas says stubbornly. “Of course you’re going to enjoy the evidence of your prowess.”

“Doesn’t mean what I’m saying isn’t true,” Dean persists before leaning down to kiss Cas’s chest, right over the steady beating of his heart. He glances up at his mate as he kisses his way down to the first stretch mark, just above Cas’s belly button.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, a crease in his brow as Dean proceeds to lave over the mark.

“I love you,” Dean says.

Judging from the way Cas’s breath hitches in response to the words, Dean definitely doesn’t say them often enough. So he repeats them into the warm skin of Cas’s belly, whispers them into each of Cas’s stretch marks, because Cas deserves to hear it, over and over.

Cas shudders with his ministrations, scent heavier, darker with want, and Dean unbuttons his jeans, pulls them down over his hips. Cas shifts, helping him along, and Dean’s mouth waters as he tugs Cas’s underwear down too, leaving him bare. He lifts Cas’s legs, propping them up over his shoulders as he lowers himself onto his belly, and trails his fingers up and down the insides of Cas’s thighs before bringing his hands around and using his thumbs to pull Cas’s cheeks apart, exposing that shiny, pink furl of muscle.

Meeting Cas’s eyes, Dean opens his mouth wide and slowly, _slowly_ drags the flat of his tongue over Cas’s hole, humming lightly at the slick sweetness that hits his taste buds. Cas inhales sharply, head dropping back, and Dean lets his eyes fall closed, pointing his tongue and flicking at Cas’s hole, letting the tip only _just_ slip inside every few passes.

Cas’s breaths come shallowly, his legs tense on either side of Dean’s head, and when Dean finally starts pressing forward with intent, shoving his tongue into that tight, wet heat, Cas rewards him with a soft whine and a fresh wave of slick, coating Dean’s tongue and lips and dripping down his chin.

“Fuck,” Cas pants as Dean swallows it down and opens his mouth wider, working his tongue into Cas, chasing the taste of him.

Cas grinds back onto Dean’s tongue, onto his mouth, something mindless and uncoordinated about his motions, and Dean loves that he can do this, that he can strip Cas of his insecurities and reduce him to a writhing, leaking, wanton mess. Dean grinds his hard-on into the mattress, getting off on the sounds that Cas makes, involuntary and bitten-back.

“Dean— _ah_ —Dean, please—”

Dean reaches up, palms Cas’s cock in time with the thrusts of his tongue, and Cas cries out, heels digging into Dean’s back.

“It’s not enough,” Cas gets out, hips moving faster. “Need more.”

Dean pulls back a little, licking Cas’s slick off his lips as he does, and presses two fingers into him. “Just like this, Cas,” he says, voice rough as he pumps them in and out, other hand still moving up and down on Cas’s cock. “You’re gonna come, just like this.”

“Can’t,” Cas groans, protests. “Oh god, Dean, I can’t—”

“You can,” Dean says lowly, shrugging Cas’s legs off his shoulders and moving up the bed to kiss his lips, still working his fingers in and out. Cas hasn’t taken a knot in a long time, and he’ll be more relaxed, easier to tie, if he’s already come.

“ _Dean_ —” Cas says, voice strained, and then his entire body stiffens, shaking minutely as he climaxes, slick gushing from his hole and filling the well of Dean’s palm.

“God, you’re perfect,” Dean says, high on the scent of his sated mate.

He presses his face into Cas’s neck, pulling his fingers out of Cas and using that hand to jack himself. He has to stop before long, though, because the base of his dick feels hotter, itchy, knot already gearing up to tie.

“Mm, Dean,” Cas murmurs, words languid, almost slurred.

“I love you,” Dean says between kisses to the skin above Cas’s collar.

“Then love me,” Cas whispers, thighs tensing up slightly on either side of Dean as he tilts his hips up, inviting, unsubtle.

Dean can’t possibly pass it up, doesn’t even think about teasing, or about holding back.

He slides into Cas in one long, steady stroke, shuddering at the familiarity of it, the ease with which Cas welcomes him, draws him in. Cas exhales as Dean enters him, both of them shivering with pleasure.

This is where they belong, where they’ve always belonged.

Dean pulls back slowly, relinquishing Cas’s warmth, and then sinks back in, swifter this time, harder. Cas’s whole body seems to twitch with the movement, insides rippling around Dean, coaxing a moan from him, so unexpectedly rough and desperate that Dean almost doesn’t recognize it as his own voice.

“Fuck, Cas,” he mumbles, hips rolling in minute motions, a barely-there push and pull.

“Dean, _move_ ,” Cas urges, shifting restlessly beneath him.

Dean holds still for only a moment longer before doing as he’s told, drawing back and plunging in, surging forward a little harder, a little deeper each time. He latches onto each pleasure-thick noise that comes out of Cas’s throat, drinking in the scent cocktail of sweat and slick and precome that fills the air between them.

Without ever slowing his pace, Dean swipes his fingers through the small puddle of come on Cas’s stomach and brings them up to Cas’s mouth, pleased when Cas opens up for him without any further prompting. Cas sucks on Dean’s fingers, and Dean would feel regret at stoppering the delightful sounds coming from him, but the way Cas’s eyes flick open, lust-dark, fixated on Dean as he cleans Dean’s fingers of his own come, is worth the temporary silence.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, tugging his fingers away and pausing to brace himself on both elbows before shoving into Cas again. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, snapping his hips into his mate over and over, and the words aren’t enough, can’t possibly be enough— _nothing_ is _enough_. “You’re so—you’re my—” he fumbles, starts again, “You are _everything_.”

Cas makes a soft, surprised sound in between one groan and the next, and his hands card through Dean’s hair, trail down his back, as tender as Dean’s thrusts are rough. He tilts his head to the side, one hand slipping back up to guide Dean’s face into the smooth, exposed skin of his throat.

Dean noses at the collar, really puts his back into the next few thrusts, and revels in the sloppiness of it, his balls dripping with Cas’s slick, his knot just beginning to swell, just beginning to catch each time it passes Cas’s rim. Cas’s thighs tremble as Dean starts teething at the skin well above the collar with the intent of making a mark that’ll be a nuisance to hide, if Cas decides to hide it at all.

“Yes,” Cas hisses. “Mark me. Bite me—knot me—please.”

_Mine_ , is all Dean can think, sucking harder, hard enough that he’s sure that Cas will have a bruise on his neck in the shape of Dean’s mouth, explicit and personal and _entirely_ unprofessional. From the way Cas leans into it, he knows that Cas won’t hide it, knows it in his gut that Cas will show up to work as though it’s not even there, that he might even welcome the scrutiny, daring anyone to make a comment.

Cas loves these little reminders as much as Dean does, reminders that Dean is Cas’s, that Cas is Dean’s, in all the ways that matter and then some.

“Yours,” Cas says, as though he’s read Dean’s mind. “Dean—alpha—make me yours.”

“Always,” Dean manages, just before he loses all capability of coherent speech.

He drives into Cas one last time, knot almost too thick to make it inside, and they both cry out as the base of Dean’s cock swells up, tying them together. Cas wails, head thrown back, insides contracting forcefully around Dean’s pulsing knot, milking him for all that he’s worth. Dean buries his face in the graceful, almost delicate arch of Cas’s neck and shudders as he empties himself deep inside his mate.

They lie together for a long moment, quiet, just catching their breaths, and when they’ve recovered, Dean rolls onto his back, pulling Cas with him, because that position is a little more comfortable.

“God, it’s been too long,” Dean says on a long exhale.

“That was reckless,” Cas says, out of the blue.

“You’re on birth control, aren’t you?” Dean responds, frowning.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Cas says, lifting his head to regard Dean seriously. “What if Henry starts crying? We’ll be stuck here.”

“Oh, that. I’m sure he’s gonna be just fine,” Dean says.

Cas rolls his eyes and says, “Your cavalier attitude about our son’s needs isn’t promising, Dean.”

The words aren’t necessarily kind, but they’re layered with fond exasperation, so Dean allows himself a smile. “I like to call it optimism, Cas,” he answers, and lifts his head to kiss his mate quiet.

**DREAMS**

From the outside, Dean and Castiel Winchester are just silhouettes, shadows cast on sheer drapes by the light inside the house. They set the baby down inside a crib, and then one of them disappears from the room. The other follows soon after.

She catches sight of them again on the first floor, dashing through the brightly lit living room, laughing. They seem so _happy_.

Well, nothing lasts forever. Meg can make sure of that.

Turning her hood up against the light drizzle that has just begun to fall, Meg walks away down the street, smiling to herself.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you yell at me about the ending, allow me to reiterate that this story was written to fit LLF+D (loosely). If you listen to [the final song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aD95Q1-RjrM) on the album, after which the final chapter is named, you'll notice that it ends with a motif from Swan Lake, on a music box, and while it's pretty, it's also pretty damn creepy (at least, to me it is, especially listening to it alone in the dark, late at night). So that is why the fic ends the way it does.
> 
> I won't completely rule out the possibility of a sequel, but there is currently no sequel in the works. Feel free to ignore the final scene, if it makes you feel better.
> 
> All of that said, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the fic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Love, Lust, Faith and Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572862) by [Nonexistenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/pseuds/Nonexistenz)




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